


Snowflakes at the End of the World

by Kyia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyia/pseuds/Kyia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mischievous Dalish Inquisitor does her level best to save Thedas, while trying to keep herself sane. Mostly by flirting. Because that at least is amusing.<br/>"Sane" is relative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keeping Sane requires Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Well then Ladies and Gents, its been ages since I wrote anything remotely like fanfiction. This also sort of appeared in my head in snapshots, so I apologize if its a bunch all over the place. I'm not certain if I like this first chapter, but I'm capitalizing on a muse while its here.  
> Subsequently its here during a day when I really should have been studying... but I'm ignoring that for now. I'm certain there will be more of the banter, and amusement.. but allow me to get my feet wet to begin with.

Snowflakes at the End of the World *Working title* Chapter 1 "Keeping Sane requires Laughter"

She flirted with almost everyone.

That was obvious. They liked her for it, didn’t mind her quiet smile and her sometimes obvious attempts at gauging their reactions to her words. Some thought it wasn’t proper for an inquisitor to be so outrageous in her flirting. But then again, the idea that the Inquisitor could flirt, let alone be a real person on the sidelines of what she did was to most, unthought of. She was the Herald of Andraste. She was supposed to be the picture of devotion, the unfailing force of justice in the chaos of the Breach, and after it. But the fact that she was a person as well was something that few considered. In fact, few wanted too. Her advisers however, they knew. They tried to keep her from the pedestal that the common folk did. Of course, that wasn’t always easy, but her flirting made it easier.

Some of her compatriots were far easier to flirt with than others. The stern warden, for example was about as ridiculously flirtatious as she was. She found she would seek him out for companionship as well as to speak of what had been happening recently in their endeavours. She found she enjoyed his moral viewpoints, his opinion, as well as the fact he was simply good company. On the odd occasions that they did find themselves flirting, she found herself giggling at his banter. How well he played the ‘big strong man’. But she was also intrigued by what he had to say. About the Wardens, about his travels, his history, basically whatever she could get him to talk about. While gossips began questioning the relationship between them, neither Blackwall nor the Inquisitor herself gave them anything other than the fact they were friends.

The gossiping devoted Chantry folk were not satisfied with that answer. Nor were they satisfied when she made Wicked Grace nights a habit with her compatriots, as well as her advisors. She decreed soon after Haven was established as a base, that all of her company were to have at least one night off together to relax. As she put it, “the hole in the sky will be there tomorrow, but it does nothing for morale if the only thing my people think of is the Breach. We need to relax, otherwise we’ll burry ourselves in worry.”

The soldiers were well taken care of by her advisers of course, but she worried that no one took care of her advisers.

Work continued, and the supposed Herald of Andraste made herself useful while her advisers did their part. She was not what the public expected. A dalish elf, of slight build. Lithe, and quick, she wielded daggers with deadly accuracy and could often be found talking with the dwarven rogue Varric around his campfire. Often they were discussing everything from missions to poisons. She was a sly one on the battle field, yet appeared to have a kind and merciful heart. She was consistently questioning her companions about their pasts, their current existence, how things came to be, or why. She took any mission, from the smallest things, to the largest. But she refused to be pushed around by people, which became most apparent when she faced down both Cassandra Penderghast, as well as First Enchanter Vivienne about a spirit of mercy in human form.

Her hair was short, kept back in a small ponytail, and pure white. Her eyes were a deep violet, and could be soft and kind as equally as they could be stern, angry and cutting. Her appearance was jarring to many who were not used to seeing the Dalish, as upon her brow was an intricately done forest green vallaslin, in what appeared to be the shape of a canopy of a tree. The tattoos of the Dalish, marking those who wore them as an adult. She called herself Eirian, apparently a word meaning silver. Few people ever called her that, she was more formally known as Mistress Lavellan, of the Herald of Andraste.

Whether she was the Herald or not, she really didn’t seem to care, even if a great many other people wanted to believe that that’s what she was. She just wanted to use the glowing green anchor mark on her hand to do some good.

To blow off steam, she flirted.

 

_Gods._ She thought, grinning. _He’s such a Templar._ She was recalling earlier that day when she had been getting to know some of her advisors after returning from a trip to the Hinterlands. She had spied the tall blonde knight commander keeping an eye on his training troops and being assailed by messengers from every direction. This is usually where he could be found, standing amid organized chaos. She had wandered over to speak to him, see what his take was on things. What he thought of the state of affairs. She’d made it a point to make certain to check in with all of her companions and her advisers whenever she returned to Haven.

As she walked over, she found him giving an order to a Templar under his command, something about how the troops weren’t preparing for a practice fight, but a real one.

“We’ve received a number of recruits. Locals from Haven, and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did.” She answered wish a half grin and an amused reply.

“At least I got everyone’s attention.” He chuckled slightly before replying.

“That you did.” She cocked her head to the side as she discovered that he had a scar across his mouth. _Wonder what did that to you?_ Mentally, she filed it under the list of questions that she should ask at some point before realizing he was speaking again and following him.

“-Recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself. I was there during the mage uprising. I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

“Sir.” From behind a scout approached carrying a clipboard. Commander Cullen turned mid-sentence to receive the man. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“Yeah.. Give or take.” She replied, looking down at her left hand. She knew the glowing green mark remained there. But at least it wasn’t trying to swallow her whole. Least now she knew that there was a use for it.

“The Chantry lost control of the Templars and the Mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains.” He continued. Eirian’s mouth twisted in disgust. This was one of the reasons she’d become a rogue. She detested bureaucracy when it did nothing useful. It was one of the reasons that when she was required to go venture amongst humans, she preferred to do so as a shadow, rather than have to deal with them head on. “The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can-“He broke off, shaking his head.

“Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.” His apologetic nature amused her, mostly because she believed that he should not have to apologize for passion for his cause. She half grinned as she replied.

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.” The response had the desired effect. He laughed before he responded. “Another time perhaps.” She gave him a full smile now, maybe because she’d heard him laugh so rarely that it seemed like a gift.

“I, ah” He paused before clearing his throat, and Eirian blinked at him. Was he stumbling for words? “There’s still a lot of work ahead.” At which point he was approached by another messenger, this time about supply lines. “As I was saying.” He gestured to the messenger, and she bowed slightly by way of a polite farewell.

The encounter left her amused. The big scary commander could be left fumbling for words. He was so well spoken in other areas, apparently he didn’t know precisely what to do with someone who showed him attention for his work.

She had called a war council, and gotten Leliana, Josephine and Cullen to be busy with their respective specialties doing what they were best at.

It occurred to her as she was walking away that her advisers had quite a lot on their plates, as well as what she asked them to do for the Inquisition. Josephine had letters to write, people to impress, foreign dignitaries to work with. While Leliana had her spy network to command, codes to break, people to keep tabs on. Cullen of course was busy keeping the force together, training as well as recruiting. She shook her head as she climbed to an unused corner of an easily accessible roof on the Chantry Keep to watch over her band of people for a bit. She knew that she didn’t even know the half of what it is that her advisers did, only that together they kept the Inquisition together. To some degree, she probably did a bunch of work herself. Gathering supplies, rescuing people, things, doing general errands for anyone who needed them done. Closing Rifts, seeing what she could do to build up the reputation of the Inquisition and gain agents in other areas. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She looked up at the sky before casting a glance around Haven, or as much as she could see from her corner of roof.

_Hmmm. Cullen seems unoccupied... I did want to ask him about the Templars and the Mages_. She thought for a second more before she nodded and hopped off her patch of roof to the balcony beside it before finding her way out of the Chantry and out to the courtyard. He nodded slightly in greeting as she approached.

“Mistress Lavellan.”

“Commander Cullen” she responded.

“Did you want something else?”

“I’m curious about the Templars. Given that you’re a former Templar, I figured that you would be the best one to ask.”

“Alright. What would you like to know about?” He asked.

“I’d like to know more about Templar life.”

“If you want information about what the Order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than you already know. Anything else however, I will answer as best I can.” She nodded in response. She wondered what the Templar Order was up too, but given that he’d left it before it appeared to lose its grip on reality, she didn’t expect him to know or be able to tell her differently than what they both knew now. She asked a few questions about the Templars, wondering as to how they were trained, what his history in a Circle had been like, as well as why he’d become a Templar. All information that was mostly clarification of things she knew already, but his personal reasons for why he’d become a Templar intrigued her. It was clear that he was devoted to his faith, and wanted to do what was right for those he protected, and watched over. She was surprised that he’d joined the order so young. From what she understood, that was a tough life for one so young. But then again, so was learning a bow or a knife when you were a few years younger than that so you could protect your Clan on the move. Her respect for the man increased as she began to see how moral he was, under the plate armour and feathered overcoat … thing. Seriously, where did that thing come from and why did it have so many feathers? Was it a human thing? They just needed to make feathers into a fluffy thing?

“Was there anything else you wanted to know?” His voice pulled her from the meandering she’d been indulging in over the feathers that covered his shoulders.

“Vows. Don’t Templars take vows of some sort? “I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages”- that sort of thing?”

“Well, there is a vigil. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter- your first draft of Lyrium- and its power.” She shuddered in response to that idea. Lyrium was for mages. Not that she had much against mages, but Red Lyrium had haunted her nightmares after she’d stabilized the Breach. It still did. “As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.” That idea brought up a thought. But she wasn’t sure how she should phrase it.

“A life of service and sacrifice.” She began, wondering how to channel her inner Josephine so she would not botch this question. “Are Templars also expected to give up…physical temptations?” She was Dalish, She’d heard stories from everywhere, some fabrications, and some truths. The only way to figure out which was which was to essentially ask blunt questions.

“Physical?” he looked at her surprised. “Why…” he cleared his throat suddenly, and she suddenly caught on that this might be a topic he hadn’t prepared for. Mentally, she grinned a mischievous grin, highly amused to see her commander, who was always so proper and serious, loose his composure, even slightly. “Why would you…” His tone had changed as he began again, apparently trying desperately to either regain command of his composure, or of the situation, she couldn’t tell which.

“That’s not expected.” His tone remained businesslike, telling her that he’d regained his composure and was going to answer her question with the cool temperament he always had. “Templars can marry, although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission.” He was stuttering slightly as he spoke, and it took a decent amount of willpower for her to not start giggling. “Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s, um, not required.” Nope. The composure was gone. At this point, she couldn’t resist seeing how much more of his composure she could whittle away.

“Have you?” she asked.

“Me? I ….um…. No. I’ve taken no such vows. Maker’s breath- can we speak of something else?”

“That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.” She finished, turning away. She had to contain her laughter until she got out into the trees outside of Haven. When she was far enough away from the camp that she couldn’t hear ambient noise, she laughed out loud.

“Very good Commander. Very good. You will be fun to tease, if for no other reason than you have no way to deal with it, and it’s such a departure from your composed way of dealing with life.”


	2. Lyrium Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it skips ahead a bit, but it gives you an idea of the pressures on the Herald, and how dealing in healthy ways isn't always the way it works.  
> This title was tough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE.  
> This is also attempted Inquisition playthough #3. I've done the opening missions 3 times already. Made the same character every time.  
> I'd like to see what happens after wicked minds and wicked hearts damn it!  
> However its proving to be a good way to make sure I get dialogue correct ^^  
> LET ME KNOW HOW IT IS PLEASE.  
> But thanks for the kudos those of you who've left it ^^

Lavellan was back from the Hinterlands, with a pack full of elfroot and too many knick-knacks that she intended to sell so she could get them all of her back. She’d also brought back some armour schematics as well as some new sorts of ores. She stood in the forge, pouring over the ingredients she had available, and wondering what would work best. 

“Iron is easy to work with, Milady, and does a good job of keeping you safe from a knife thrust.” A voice with a slight tone of gravel said behind her. She gave a slight smile as her eyes travelled to the chest where she stored all the extra leather and metal she had found. 

“I probably have enough iron to make all of my company some armour from it.” 

“That wouldn’t surprise me.” Her response was an honest grin. 

“What can I do for you Varric?” she asked, turning. Her hands were full of a few different pieces of leather that she was feeling for texture and softness. The red headed dwarf stood before her. He was stocky, and about a third of her size. His red brocaded shirt was most of the way open, as it usually was. Showing off his incredible forest of red chest hair. 

“Well, you can tell me how you’re holding up. We’re out of Cassandra’s earshot now, and you’ve had a pretty hectic few days. Starting as Thedas’s most wanted prisoner, and ending up leading a party of people around to do the good work of the Chantry. Most people wishing to make such a transition tend to spread that out over more than the space of a day.” 

“And the rest of us haven’t had a hectic few days? You went from being most of a prisoner to being a free… dwarf, who’s now helping a misplaced elf attempt to save the world.” She pointed out. He grinned and shrugged in response. 

“Nice catch there. Granted, but I at least was used to some trouble before I came out here. Even if I’m not used to something as large as a hole in the sky, I was still used to traipsing around with Hawke before I joined up with you lot.” 

“I’ve heard a lot of tales about Hawke, but I’m not so certain that they’re all truth.” Eirian peered intently at the ram leather she held in her hand, before applying her scrutiny to a piece of fenec leather in her other hand. Varric gave her a warm smile. 

“All tales have kernels of truth Milady, its all about finding them amid the-“

“Exaggeration of the masses?” she asked, cutting him off with a wide grin.

“I suppose that’s a way of thinking about it.” He responded. 

“Not that you’d be responsible for some of that exaggeration at all, eh Sir Dwarf?”

“Madam, you wound me.” He had a hand over his heart as if she’d applied a sharp object to his very being. She snickered at him before responding. 

“I highly doubt that you’d be anywhere but at the heart of the story good sir, even if they are the beginnings of the tallest tales I’ve ever heard.” Varric gave her a small bow, obviously pleased.

“Always be at the place where you can make the largest impact, even if you’re making the largest impact by capitalizing on the grandiose ideas of the masses.” Eirian laughed at his declaration. 

“I hope that means that the tales of the Herald of Andraste will be mostly close to the truth, at least when Master Tethras is involved in the telling of the stories.” Varric laughed. 

“Have you heard some of the stories about you and the Inquisition? I don’t even need to interject any fantastical ideas to any of them. The world is amazed by the thoughts of what you have done, what you are able to do. The tales will grow with or without me. Hawke I had some influence on. This is something that is far out of my hands.” He shrugged. She nodded absentmindedly. “If you want to make armour for yourself and I, use wolf leather and iron.” She looked up at him. 

“Why wolf leather?” 

“Because it complements your eyes, and shows off my chest perfectly.” She grinned at him. 

“Well we couldn’t have you in armour that doesn’t show off that forest of hair perfectly. How else would you attract so many ladies as you do?” He gave her a withering smile. 

“On second thought, perhaps you should make my armour out of ram leather.” 

“I thought that half of your power in battle was your ability to stun the enemy with how lovely your chest was?” 

“Oh, don’t kid yourself Milady that is exactly why I might want to not wear such an open coat. I wouldn’t want any enemy to think that my marvelous chest was the perfect target for an arrow.” She laughed and returned his half bow before returning to the collection of materials in front of her. Eirian crafted some new armour for her team, sold off the extra everything, knack knacks, armour that was useless, weaponry, and any of the random little treasure she picked up. She managed to get hold of the apothecary’s master’s missing notes, dropped off herbs, sent Cullen, Lilliana and Josephine to do certain tasks, and attempted to outfit her people with better armour and weaponry. Which essentially meant that she slipped into where they tended to frequent and left different armour and weapons beside their current ones. She figured that her crew was intelligent enough to know what she meant.  
She did most of her work without speaking, finding that the silence of the shadows amid the movement of those in the light was some form of comfort. She sought out no company, rather finding that her mind was rather full of things at the moment. Far too full to entertain any serious discussion with any others. 

The light faded quickly as she busied herself. Her compatriots, as well as most the soldiers found their way to Nissa’s tavern for a decent mug of ale and Wicked Grace. She waited till the movement had mostly ceased before she strapped on some knives she’d crafted that day and made for the practice dummies that Cassandra tended to be found working on during the day. 

The three dummies made of wood, rope, canvas and straw stood in a line, full of cuts from Cassandra’s Templar blade. She pulled out her knives and examined the edges she’d put on them. Satisfied that it was to her taste, she eyed the dummies. They stood there in the twilight, like scarecrows in a field. She closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and on the exhale her eyes went flint sharp as she no longer saw dummies, she saw bandits threatening civilians at the crossroads in the hinterlands. 

Leaping into the air, she flipped over them and spun her blade around at the first. The edge held, cutting straight threw the wooden stake that mimicked the dummies spine. The straw stuffed head bounced down and rolled away as she spun and planted both her knives into the main body of the second. Her eyes saw not the straw that was pulled out of the practice dummies, but a spray of blood that she felt hit her in the face. She kicked at the center of the now headless mannequin, and a loud crack pierced the air. She almost lost her footing as she stumbled back from the image of an approaching rogue Templar with a massive shield that might as well have been a wall. Her back hit the second mannequin, and she slashed with her blade before pushing herself into the air. Her actions were a deadly dance of summer stone and movement. Straw fell at her feet with chips of wood and canvas as she flipped herself into the air and took pieces of supposed flesh from the imagined attackers. 

Finally landing away from the mannequins, her eyes saw blood and bodies instead of damaged practice dummies. She was breathing heavily as she kept her ready pose, still not out of her trance. 

“A dashing display of precision and death. I don’t think I’ve seen anything so beautiful since I went walking through battlefields in the Fade.” The voice scared her, and she threw a smoke bomb to the ground before appearing behind the speaker and holding a blade against his throat. He placed a cold hand on the hand that held the blade against his neck, but did nothing else to stop her from attacking him further. He felt her panting against his back, but she did nothing to continue the attack against him. His hand was able to feel the rushing of her blood around her body through her pulse, and he waited for it to slow to a more even tempo before speaking softly. 

“I am not an enemy Da’len. I am only here to help you.” There was a pause before she croaked a word. 

“Solas.” 

The knife was gently moved away from his throat, and she withdrew from his back. The elven mage checked the spot where her knife had been pressed against his skin and knew from experience that he might have a slight red line, but little else. He heard the sound of her sliding her knives into the scabbards on her back before he turned to her. Her posture was that of someone haunted, and for the moment venerable, ashamed that she’d attacked him. 

“That was beautiful, in a gracefully lethal way.” He said with a smile. She gave him a half smile and a slight bow. He nodded in response. “Any particular reason you felt the need to tear Cassandra’s practice dummies to pieces?” She smiled sheepishly.  
“I had new knives to try out.” 

“I highly doubt that you normally rip such things to pieces if you wish to test out new weaponry.” She shrugged and changed the subject. 

“How is the new staff?” 

“Excellent, thank you. I think that the blade at the base will make things easier if I get cornered.”

“Good. That’s kind of what I thought might help.” 

“What did you see during that display?” he asked. Eirian regarded her elven companion with lowered lids. He was taller, and lithe, like her. His protection against the elements were a gray tunic over green leggings. His eyes were a forest green, and his head was bald. It was an odd thing for Eirian to see an elf that was bald, but as someone with pure white hair and violet eyes, she decided that she didn’t have much to say in the matter. They were both enigmas in the appearances department. 

“The attack from yesterday. Where we didn’t see those Templars until they were on top of us. I didn’t want to get caught like that again.” Her hand fell to her side, where the ghost of a wound still pained her. 

“That stab wound still hurts?” he asked her. She shrugged. 

“The scar is tight and sore. But I will heal. For now it serves as a reminder that I should watch my sides better, and keep my companions at my back where they can watch my back.” He gave her a ghost of a smile, understanding exactly where she came from. 

“As you wish, Milady Herald.” She flinched at his way of referring to her. “Something wrong?” he asked. 

“I am not certain if I was sent from the Maker, or simply in the wrong place at the right time. The masses may refer to me as Herald, I cannot ask them to do anything less. But my companions I’d prefer to be less formal with me. I can understand you referring to Cassandra as Seeker, it is her title. But I have never been anything other than myself, and being referred to as ‘the Herald’ by those I fight and travel with is more than a little unnerving.” He nodded so slightly one could almost miss it. She caught the gesture however, having learned to read his subtleties while with him in a fight. 

“Milady then?” 

“Eirian please. Milady if you must, but my name is Eirian, and I am a lady to few.” He gave her the ghost of a grin, a slight amount of mischievousness she usually saw in her own eyes. 

“But you are a lady to more than a few, and no one would dare forget it now.” 

“Between my Ambassador requiring the visiting nobles to refer to me as ‘Mistress Lavellan’, and Lellian glaring daggers at them if they’re even heard to whisper something like ‘knife ear’ in this area, I’m certain that all of Thedas knows that I’m a female. So I suppose that by definition that also means being a lady.” He hid a grin behind his hand as she scowled at the ground at the idea of it all. 

“Even so, Eirian.” He began, giving her a nod as a parting and saying over his shoulder as his long legs started carrying him away. “I would inform Commander Cullen that those dummies will need to be replaced, otherwise Cassandra might be required to practice her forms with live targets.” 

“I’ll make sure they know. Thank you for reminding me Solas.”  
‡

Cullen walked out of Haven at dawn the next morning, to see his Templars and his recruits gathered around the dummies that until the night before had stood at the side of the recruits tents. They were snapped to pieces, shattered, and cut to ribbons. His surprise was audible, and echoed by his troops. Marching back into the Chantry and into his office, he found a note on his desk.  
 _Cullen,_  
Sorry about Cassandra’s dummies, this should be enough to cover it. If not, let me know and I’ll get a bit more. I upped the price a bit because it’s impossible to get decent iron out here. I’ll look for more in the hinterlands.  
E.   
With the note was 50 gold coins.  
Cullen leaned over his hands on his desk and laughed. Apparently there was more to this elf than first met the eye. 

So she’d gained allies. The “Friends of Red Jenny’, which for all intents and purposes appeared to be a minor criminal organization with a spry elven leader by the name of Sera. She was blonde, lithe like Eirian, and had more of a mischevious streak than the lady Herald did. That, and few understood her way of speaking.  
She’d hooked a Qunari spy, Iron Bull, head of a mercenary company known as ‘The Bull’s Chargers’, who were to all sights an excellent fighting company that Cullen was happy to have help and train with his men. Iron Bull himself was easy to get along with and offered good advice.  
On Leliana’s advice, she found a dark haired Grey Warden, Blackwall, in the Hinterlands. He quickly proved to be a fine addition to the company she’d began. Quilted armor and all.  
Over the next few weeks however, Andraste’s Herald made advances, and the Inquisition was quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with. They’d stabilized the Hinterlands, were moving into the Storm Coast, and were looking for other places to expand the Inquisition’s influence.  
After the Chantry mess in Val Royeaux however, the issue turned to who to approach for help with the Breach, Mages or Templars.  
‡  
“No! Absolutely not!” Cullen exclaimed as he banged his hands on the table. “First Val Royeaux, now you want to go confront a magister? Have you no sense at all Eirian?” 

“Sense Commander? I’m not the one banging tables and spilling my ale all over my reports.” Eirian was closely examining her fingernails, as her commander started growling under his breath and loudly called for a page to bring a drying cloth or something. Ambassador Josephine stifled a grin as she watched the commander flick ale off of the papers and grew more amused as she saw some of the ink starting to run down the parchment. It was a good thing that she kept secondary records of all those that came into Haven, or went out of it. 

“Isn’t it a good thing you have me then?” drawled a voice from the entrance. 

“Commander! This man says he has information about this Magister. He wouldn’t listen when I required him to not interrupt these proceedings.” The elven lady nodded at the guard to the war room before Cullen got a chance. 

“He is welcome in this case. This mage has information I can use.” _I hope._

“Ah, delighted to be included, your ladyship.” The mage bowed slightly. He was tall and could be considered handsome. His dark hair cut well, and his mustache curled up neatly at the sides. He oozed self-approval, and his self-flattery was not entirely unwarranted. 

“Don’t make us regret it, mage.” Growled Cassandra. 

“Such animosity Lady Seeker, I only wish to help you and your cause.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Leliana asked accusingly. 

“Why, stopping a Venatori agent from getting further into trouble than he should be. Not to mention, perhaps discovering what kind of magic he’s using to essentially distort time.”

“Distort time?” Josephine’s jaw was almost audible as it hit her chest. Eirian held up her hands. 

“We can discuss how this works and the theories behind it later. I’d even be willing to add it to Wicked Grace nights if need be, but for now, Breach, Mages, currently indentured to Magister. Can we focus on that?” Dorian helped get them in, Leliana’s people took care of the trap that had been. The adventure reached a climax with Eirian and Dorian being tossed a year in the future and finding the world completely changed. 

At the end of it all, Dorian and Eirian spilled back out of a fade rift in Arl Emon’s castle, the mages were made full allies of the inquisition, (much to the ire of Cassandra and Sera) Eirian declared a few days off for her company and promptly disappeared. 

Day 3 after the triumphant return of the Herald and her allies, dawned cold and bright in the Anderfels. The first bell rang in the chantry tower, and Varric decided he’d had enough. So he went and quietly had a word or two with Solas. They both dawned their gear and went out into the woods around Haven. 

Eirian hadn’t been seen since she’d appeared back at Haven the night after she’d gotten back with Varric, Cassandra and Dorian to announce that the Mages had been granted an alliance with the Inquisition, and they would be appearing in a few days, meanwhile she and her company would take a few days’ rest, do a bit more adventuring, and then once the Mages had had some time to settle in, they would go and see what they could do about the Breach. There was an aura of hope in the air where before there had only been terror and fear. The people felt that if anyone could do something about the Breach, it was the herald, and now that the Herald had her allies, she could best anything.  
Which was all well and fine, but first she had to be found. 

Varric didn’t know what had happened in that space of time where the mage and she had disappeared, but she’d come out shaken, and white as a ghost. Well, whiter than one, as she was usually white as a ghost. Once she was out, she just about murdered Alexius herself, right then and there, but once she’d gained control of herself, had demanded his surrender, or else she’d be pleased to grant him a less than quick death. It had scared her compatriots, they’d never seen her that angry before, or that vindictive. The journey back had been remarkably quiet, more so than usual. She’d even taken Cassandra’s berating about allying with the mages instead of conscripting them without a complaint. Usually she had at least a little to say in their defence. That night she’d just taken it, without a word. 

Now she was missing, and had been for 2 days. It wasn’t like Varric to worry, not much. But this was something that needed some attention. Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine had been steadily getting more worried. She’d given them a report on what was supposedly in this Elder One’s future, and having given them some leads and ideas, she’d just left. Leliana was the only one who was probably not worried, and Varric had noticed a few casks of mead disappear from the storage racks and be quietly carried out to the woods by some of her scouts. So he figured she knew something. 

Dorian had told them what had happened. That he and Seeker Cassandra were locked in cells with Grand Enchanter Fiona, that Leliana had been tortured and had finally murdered her tormentor, that everywhere had gone to hell, and hell looked like a field of Red Lyrium. Varric had a suspicion that her disappearance had something to do with the fact that she’d walked in on Cassandra reciting the Chant of Light to keep herself sane, while he had barely been all there himself. The future Dorian had described certainly explained why she had almost killed Alexius then and there, but had stopped at the last minute. But why go Awol? Especially now? They had the power to stop the Breach, why up and disappear? 

Solas and he trudged through recently disturbed snow into a piece of the outskirts of Haven that had been a small patch of trees and a small retreat of the apothecary’s former master. It looked like there had been activity here. Varric noted the firm tread of a human, but not of an elf. His eyebrows raised, he looked up at Solas, who shrugged his shoulders. They approached the outside of a well hidden cabin surrounded by woods. Varric cocked his head to the side as he recognized Eirian’s print in the snow, next to some elfroot. 

Solas beckoned him back to the door and gestured. Varric nodded before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open, Bianca cocked in his arms, ready to shoot anything that came at him. 

Instead he had to duck a well thrown mug at his head. 

“Don’t you two ever _knock?!_ ” An irritated voice drawled. “If you’re coming in, get your arses in here and close the door.” She barked with an unusual amount of irritation.

“Been taking lessons from our Tevinter friend in how to sound lordly Milady?” Varric stepped inside, stowing Bianca on his back as he did so. 

“Been taking lessons from being a prick from Roderick, Varric?” Solas chuckled at that. 

“Pipe down Chuckles.” He responded. They stood assessing the area as they stood in the front entrance. There was a fire pit, a desk and a few beds. This had definitely been used as a retreat for someone, probably a healer. But that held true with what they’d heard from the apothecary. 

“I take it the entire Inquisition knows I’m gone on a bender?” she asked sluggishly. Varric looked over at her. She had her feet up in front of the fire, slouched down in a large chair. A bottle of mead half gone in her hand. 

“No, your advisors seem to be worried, well, all except Leliana.” She gave a half grin at that as she lifted the bottle to her lips again and allowed a mouthful down her throat. 

“Good old Leliana. She saved us, you know? Back in the future… Maker that sounds so odd to say.” She slogged some more mead down her throat as she gave a gesture that they should have a seat. “But she did. She gave herself up so that Dorian could work out the spell to get us back.” She gave a sad half grin and chuckled. “Actually, so did you and Cassandra Varric. Luckily I didn’t need to watch either of you give up the ghost.” 

“Listen Silver, I don’t like the idea of dying either, but that was a future that won’t happen because you made it back alive. Dwelling on it wont make you happier. But it will set you back quite a bit. We’ve got a chance to stop this Elder one you’ve heard of, and we can do it better because you made it back.”

“Sounds like you should be thanking Dorian, not me.” 

“Sparkler?” 

“He’s the one who got us back, not me.” 

“Yes well, some of us are more acquainted with creepy magic than others.” 

“That still doesn’t mean I did much beyond get sucked into a rift, and have to try to get back.”

“But you did get back.” Offered the dwarf. “With a whole lot more information than we had before.”

“And nightmares like I’ve never had them before.” She growled into her bottle. 

“Nightmares Silver?” asked the dwarf. Solas, who so far had done little more than closed the door as he’d been bid, and been watching the exchange carefully nudged the dwarf gently with his staff. “What?” asked Varric. Solas gave him a look that quietly requested he let him try. Going to the front of her chair, the bald apostate knelt in front of the angry white haired elf. 

“Lethallan. “ He began, waiting until her bloodshot eyes sought his. “What you saw was terrible, horrifying. But it was no longer real once you appeared back in this time. It is no more real than the dreams you might have of tomorrow, no more real than what you might have nightmares of having happened in the past. This is a future you can change, and so can the people of the Inquisition. But they need their herald to do so, otherwise you can expect that future to happen, on contact.” His eyes were so incredibly severe that she ended up trying to do her best to hold back tears. It took her a few seconds of peering into the grey pools of light before she nodded and swiped her hand across her mouth. 

“Fine. I cant stop that image from being in my head, but I’ll be damned if I let it happen.”

“What image exactly?” Varric asked. Solas gave him a sharp glance as her eyes went from being determined to breaking for that quick second. That second of pain had her bringing the bottle of honey wine back to her lips and taking a long drink so that she could steel her nerves for remembering, and the telling that came after. 

“Cassandra and you completely consumed by red lyrium Varric.” She croaked. Varric took a quick breath. Yup. That’d do it. He shook off the chill that went down his spine and the feeling of discomfort that lifted all the hairs on his back on end. 

“Look Silver, there’s only so much they can do to us while you are here. You won’t let any of this happen, and as a result, there’s no worries that it will happen. So you’ make sure we’re all safe, you’ve been destroying the primeval lyrium as we go, so there’s no reason to think you won’t be able to kick everyone’s ass and save Thedas like Hawke saved Kirkwall.” That got him a small grin.

“Well if I’m being compared to the great Champion of Kirkwall, then I’ve got quite a reputation to live up too.” Varric chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. 

“How about we get you sober first?”

“I am sober.” She said, trying to stand. Solas caught her before she wobbled herself into the ground and lowered her back to the chair, confiscating her mead as he went. 

“Bullshit Silver. Get some rest. Maybe if you ask nicely Chuckles will heal you up.” 

“From a hangover? But then how else will I manage to flirt badly and get away with it because I’m drunk?” She cried indignantly. 

“This assumes I think you flirt badly, drunk or sober.” Eirian turned pink at that, finally robbed of her clipping sarcastic chatter and into a shocked silence. Varric decided he liked this shocked silence better and nodded at Solas. The elf returned the nod, before turning his back to his charge and casting a sleep spell. Varric started to walk out of the room, figuring that her advisors should know she was safe before they did end up sending a search party. Before the solid oak door shut behind him he heard the quiet mutterings of the female he’d come to find asking Solas if she really did flirt badly when she was sober. He chuckled himself before marching off threw the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People should tell me if this is too much of a leap around. I can add more or take away more.  
> Truthfully, as far as I've written so far, most of the fun takes place in skyhold. But I'm having fun writing my inquisitor as she evolves, what she faces, how she deals, etc.  
> hell, the nightmares I'd have to see my crew get red lyriumed? *shudders* Dont even WANT to think about it.  
> Night all.  
> Let me know what you think. I think i'm focusing too much on smiles and eyes personally... thoughts?


	3. Apostates in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something stumbles out of the woods and out of Varric's memory, that stuns and makes him do something crazy. Someone else pays the price for price for the something crazy, and oddness ensues when a rescue happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy! Long Chapter ahead!

Back in the Hinterlands again, Varric didn’t know _why_ exactly, but here they were. Up ahead of him, Eirian held up a hand and her hands went to the knives on her back, unsheathing in a silent movement. _Well Bianca, time for some fun._ He pulled out the beautiful crossbow and started looking for something to aim the bolts at. Up ahead, Eirian was gone in a puff of smoke and he watched her outline go running towards a bunch of unwary apostates and their sellsword bodyguards. He saw the outline take a few heavy strikes at the back of one apostate before she reappeared. She flipped into the air and around behind another apostate to start dealing damage to his back as well as Varric aimed Bianca at his eyeball. Beside him, Solas cast a protective barrier around them both as he started firing lightening at the assailants. Varric took out the sellsword who was going to take down Blackwall from behind and snorted at the sound that the idiot made before he hit the ground. 

Next. He thought, angling Bianca towards an apostate charging for Eirian’s back. The image of the man in a yellow and green coat, with blond hair in a half tail, an apostate’s staff in his hand and grey-white feathered paldrons on his shoulders made him stop dead. 

_Blondie?!_

The mage was tossing spells at Varric’s companions and flicking his staff around himself. This mage used fire, not healing. His eyes didn’t appear to be glowing from an otherworldly guest inhabiting a human host, but normal, if enraged enough. The mage was still flicking fireballs around. One of which Blackwall deflated off the giant shield as the Warden raced to the defence of their elven leader whose tail was nicely being kicked by a bunch of sellswords. 

“Varric!” hissed Solas as he danced in place, his own staff a blur except for the consistent trail and flares of lightning that flashed from the black wood in his hands. “What is the matter? Do something!” Varric watched the mage in the distance. He was standing, shoulder width apart, his staff partially upright and held behind his back as he held his other hand out in front of him to cast a set of fire runes on the ground before him. He was laughing. Even from a distance the enemy mage’s every gesture was that of Anders, The dwarf took off. His scout coat flying like a cape around him as he set Bianca in the holster on his back and raced as fast as his small legs could take him. He ran across the battle field towards the enemy mage and his obviously laid fire glyphs. He had to be sure. He wasn’t certain why he was so it mattered so much. This enemy mage he was racing towards was just an uncanny doppelganger, and of course, he was racing himself right into danger. But he had to know. He wasn’t even certain what would happen if it turned out to actually be Anders. He couldn’t get Eirian to call off the battle, well maybe he could, but he doubted the elf would be able to. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her elbow a swordsman in the eye where he fell to Blackwall’s blade. He watched as she wiped her mouth and spat out a lump of bloody saliva before gulping down a healing potion and turning to her next attacker. 

“Varric!” Solas roared behind him. He felt the power of another barrier surround and engulf him, and watched as it deflected an arrow off his still moving frame. Blackwall and Eirian looked at him. Their enemies took advantage of their momentary distraction to send a few more fireballs and arrows at them. Blackwall deflected the fireball off his shield. Eirian was less lucky with an arrow out of her shoulder. She spat a curse and was up in the air in an instant before the pitiful archer lost his head. Ahead of him, the mage was becoming clearer. It had to be a doppelganger, Anders wasn’t here. 

Was he? 

Bianca was in his hands and aimed at the look alike before he knew what to do with himself. 

“Anders!” he yelled out. The mage looked up at him with a possessed grin.

“Anders?” answered the mage. “That scumbag who set us all free? That abomination who brought down this hell upon us? Who decided that we should be free with fire and blood? Not at all” he cackled as Varric starred at him. He was still frozen. Bianca felt heavy and unwieldy in his hands, like he’d never held her before, like he was a beginner once again. This man was Anders in everything but the parts that mattered. Varric had seen Anders under Justice’s power, and even he didn’t look like this maniac did. “Die little man! Tell your friend I sent you to see him, in Hell!” 

The fireball burned the oxygen in the air up before Varric remembered to breath. His fingers still didn’t have any feeling to them, even as he aimed the crossbow at the center of the mages forehead. He watched the fireball get big enough in the mage’s hands that it would consume his entire body when it hit him. Another wave of energy flickered over his skin as Solas cast another barrier spell over him, but he didn’t think it’d do much when that fireball found its mark.  
He watched as it started to make its way towards him, almost in slow motion. He watched with a resolute expression. If this was the end, he wasn’t going to down scared. This was his end, and he’d know when it came, Ancestors be damned.  
A faint outline made its way across his vision, pulling him out of harm’s way, before the invisible outline flew into the air with a war cry. 

“Ar tu na'lin emma mi you bastard!” it screamed, landing behind the fireball and the mage. The fireball disappeared as quickly as it began and the mage coughed before sliding off blades that appeared in a cloud of smoke, and the elf holding them looked like she would spit acid, if the daggers from her eyes didn’t kill him first. “Fenedhis!” she was screaming. Varric almost felt like a misbehaving child as the elf marched up to him, swearing in elven. If he was any less shell-shocked he would have been shaking in his boots at the sight of how incredibly furious the suddenly terrifying elf was, but the entire situation still had him reeling on his feet, and unable to comprehend the fact there was a good chance she’d skewer him on her blades out of what was probably fear for his safety. As he thought about it, he was surprised how much he saw another elf he’d known and called friend at one point in her. The hair was the same, and for all he knew she might as well have been speaking Tevene instead of elvish. He decided he could chuckle about how much she reminded him of Fenris _after_ she was less likely to gut him for what had just transpired. 

She started speaking gibberish before she realized she was stringing elfish phrases and swear words together with various forms of blasphemies that Solas was starting to look horrified at. She growled audibly, still shaking with fury as she glared down at the dwarf. 

“Explain yourself!” she roared at him. His mouth opened in the beginnings of a partial truth mixed with lie, as he caught the glint of sunlight off a hint of metal. His warning came too late as an arrow slammed into her back, followed by the sudden sound of dual blades punching threw flesh and bone. 

“Gotcha.” Someone whispered the word triumphantly in her ear before she heard the sound of her own gasped intake of breath that half exited out the blade wounds, and then the squelch of the blades being pulled back out of her chest. She felt the pain in tandem with the feeling of something more sinister snake its way through her veins.  
 _Poison._ She thought. _Fenedhis!_

She felt herself falling down, her mind racing back to the idea of how many health potions the group still had with them, and knew the answer was none. She’d thought as she tossed the last one to Blackwall earlier that they’d need to be careful about them now. She didn’t have any potions on her that would help at the moment. There was only so much a rock armour tonic could do when you were already wounded, and she couldn’t remember if there was a regenerate potion in anyone’s stocks, or if she’d even made certain they had any of those. She felt herself hit the ground. Heard the sounds of fighting around her. Bianca making her characteristic ‘chunk’ sound as Varric fired arrows into the archer or the assassin. She heard the idea of Blackwall screaming obscenities in his well-mannered way at the assassin as she heard the assassin screech in pain. Solas was in the background, she knew that. She felt his barrier surround her as she fell, and thought that at least it would protect her from bouncing her head off a rock, maybe.  
Everything was happening in slow motion. She watched Solas’s mage dance out of the corner of her eyes and Varric’s bolts cross her vision as she looked up at the sky when Solas became too difficult to focus on due to the tear that was welling up in her eye. Just the one eye of course, never both. The tear formed around her eyelid and when she finally blinked, it rolled down the side of her face. She didn’t even realize that the fight had finished, she figured the ragged breathing and the sound of hurried clinking glass was the sound of fighting, it took her a few moments and a slow blink to figure out it was rustling threw the packs, and her own breath in her lungs. 

Blackwall tore through their packs looking for a healing draught for the elf that lay on the ground. None. He looked around helplessly for some sort of idea when Varric appeared out of nowhere with some tender leaves of elfroot. 

“Come on Lady Herald. Chew on these and swallow them when you can.” He fed her the soft leaves as she tried to chew on them. Her already pale skin was starting to take on a bloodless tint as he looked up at the Warden. “Blackwall. Camp over that hill. We have to get her to camp! “ 

“Right, yes, you’re right.” Blackwall stuttered, releasing his holds on the packs as he scooped up the damaged elf at his feet. She didn’t make a sound at the movement, just curled in as best she could and tried to look small as he started running like he had demons on his tail up a tiny pathway and into the woods. Varric scooped up all the gear left behind into the packs and threw them onto his back. Significantly slowed because of the added weight. Solas appeared behind him and unloaded half of the load from his shoulders. 

“Good idea on the elfroot Varric. It might just keep her alive till we get her a potion at least and some rest.” Varric gave him a thin smile as he sprinted as fast as he could go. 

“Thanks Chuckles.” 

The top of the hill as it turned out, was not a location of one of their campsites. However, there was a cave that they’d stashed a cache of supplies and had used as a rest area before. Solas whispered a word to the stone walls of the cave and their bed rolls, some supplies and cooking utensils appeared from a hole in the wall. He pulled out a pallet for Blackwall to set her onto, and went searching through their available potions. The warden, in his massive armour set her down gently, laying her head on the pillow that was with the pallet and looked up at Solas, who was leaning against the wall and eyeing them both as he took a drink from his water skin.  
 _Wait a second._ He thought before rounding on the elf. 

“Can’t you help her?” He had to stop himself from roaring at the elf in his panic. Solas gave him a tight, but level look as he swallowed his mouthful of water. 

“I am out of mana, I don’t know how to mix lyrium potions, and I have only a barrier spell to work with here.” 

“You’re telling me we don’t have any lyrium potions either? And that you are a mage support with no _healing magic?!_ ” Solas’s eyes blazed in helpless fury. 

“She requested that I focus myself on my fade walker abilities, now that I have access to more of them. Any healing magic I can do requires more mana than I can currently produce on my own, and I can’t find any lyrium potions to help!” 

“Can’t you do anything useful then?!” roared Blackwall. 

“I’ve already done all I can. I’ve sent a plea for help, and all we can do now is keep her alive and hope it reaches someone who can help her.” 

“Like who, Leliana? You’ve sent a bird already? How can the Inquisition help when their herald is dying in the field!?” Blackwall looked ready to strike the elf when a flash of light appeared at the front of the cave with a crack. All three of the men rounded on the flash to see a disheveled figure appear with a large bag on his hip. 

“ _Fasta vass!_ ” the figure cursed. “ _Venhedis!_ ” Varric could make out only those before he lost track of the words he knew and was only able to gape at the mage who’d appeared in the light. 

“ _Dorian?_ ” he asked, breaking the mage from his cursing. The brunette mage looked up at them, all agape at him, and his cussing stopped. 

“Oh. So you are the reasons I was so rudely awakened from my dreaming, by a hurried demand that I help someone in danger and a bag of potions to the crotch! This better be worth my pain, otherwise I’ll-“ he broke off as he saw Eirian’s prone body on the pallet. His eyes hardened and he swallowed before striding forward purposefully. 

“Solas, find a lyrium potion. I’ll need your help.” He handed Solas the bag as he knelt beside the barely breathing elf. Touching her forehead, he uttered a spell and her body started to glow. “That should keep her alive until we get things better situated.” He looked around the cave before looking at Blackwall and Varric. “I want a fire going, and hot water. When you’ve done that, get more firewood and something fresh to eat. If you find any elfroot on the way around, gather everything you can find.” They both bolted from the cave as Solas fished out a blue bottle and downed it. Dorian pulled a water skin from the bag and poured some it on a cloth before laying the cloth over her forehead, and surveying the damage. The assassin had stabbed down on either side of her spine, just missing her shoulder blades. The exit wounds were just above her breasts. Deftly, he started undressing her to see the wounds better. She whimpered quietly as her skin and the wounds were laid bare to both of the mages eyes. Dorian was slightly amused that her breast band was only ripped, and so she was able to keep her modesty. Pulling a red potion from the bag, he sprinkled it over her chest and watched as the wounds started closing. Scabbing, and growing new skin as it was touched by the regenerative potion. Looking up at Solas, he saw the elf ready to do whatever he could. Dorian started a healing spell, and Solas echoed him, remembering the words to the spell he’d been taught but not entirely committed to memory. They wove power over her as she remained unconscious between them, and her body slowly healed from the damage. Her breathing became easier as her skin regrew, until she lie asleep between them without a scar or a clear indication she’d been injured so badly. The only indication that she’d been hurt was her ghostly pale skin and the fact that she slept. 

They emerged from the cave to find the light fading, Blackwall tending a fire and a stew of rabbit and some woodland vegetables he’d found and Varric polishing Bianca. Both of them were pale, and appeared to be doing anything to keep themselves busy. 

‡

Varric looked up when they approached and pointed out a pot of steaming tea. Dorian nodded in thanks as he served himself. When Solas made no move to follow his lead, Dorian gave him a questioning look.

“I detest tea.” 

“Well then. You learn something new every day I suppose.” Dorian said, sipping at his cup. Solas said nothing as he pulled out his water skin.  
Varric stopped polishing his beloved crossbow for a moment to pull a flask of something strong from his belt and took a long slog from it. Looking up, he offered it to Blackwall, who took it gratefully and took his own long draught. 

“What I wouldn’t do for a barrel of ale right now.” He said, passing the flask to Dorian who saluted him and drank. 

“Tell me about it.” Answered Varric. 

“How is she doing?” asked Blackwall. Dorian gave him an apprising look, having not really had much of a chance to actually take a good look at him. He had a black beard that shone in the firelight, it was odd in the fact that it separated into two points below his chin, instead of one. His hear was shoulder length and the same shade as his beard. His eyes were blue grey, and currently, they displayed worry more than anything. The grey warden armour he wore seamed to suit him well, as when they were around Haven, Dorian had only ever seen him in quilted armour. 

“She’s going to live. She just needs to rest awhile.” 

“Rest is for the dead.” Dorian spun on his rock beside the fire as she approached them from behind. Solas allowed himself an expression of shock before reverting his expression to a neutral one. But his eyes relayed his concern and surprise that she was awake, let alone moving. Seating herself on a rock between them, she dipped her cup into the tea and inhaled appreciatively before taking a timid sip. 

“How are you awake? I thought the spell we cast would knock you out for a day or so!” Dorian exclaimed. She took another sip before she replied. 

“My body tends to eat sleep spells. I will probably sleep for a few days once we get back to Haven.” 

“And that will be when?” asked Blackwall eyeing her disapprovingly. 

“The horsemaster is half a day’s journey. I’m not going back this time without at least making sure hes alive before I do.”

“But-!” began Solas. 

“No ‘buts’. I want the inquisition standing on its feet so I can take a few days off. Besides that, now that we have Dorian’s magic stock of potions, we should be good till we get there. I just want to make sure he’s alive before I go back.” Her companions opened their mouths to speak all at once. “This is not open for debate.” She growled before they could regale her with reasons why this wasn’t a good idea. “Let’s just get to Dennet’s, then I shall sleep for 2 weeks if need be. Deal? You louts can do the fighting if we meet any, and then I’ll be safe and fine. Alright?” The assembled men shut their mouths, mostly because they weren’t sure if they should argue with the woman who had earlier been on her deathbed only to appear to rise again. 

“Anyway.” She continued. “That smalls marvelous, I’m hungry, and I want answers.” She didn’t look at anyone in particular as she said this, only moved gingerly back to the cave and the utensils within it, but both Dorian and Varric found themselves looking up at the sky and hoping their explanations would be good enough for her.  
‡  
They ate in silence, sipping at soup and tea or water and staring into the fire. Having eaten most of his stew, which he found to be quite delicious for field food. Varric half wished Blackwall had been with them in the Deep roads if this is what he could do with rabbits, elfroot and some unnamed vegetables. He felt Eirian’s eyes on him as he ate, but didn’t look up at her. He didn’t want to tell her why he’d thrown himself into harm’s way, and he didn’t want to remember how he’d frozen at the sight of the apostate mage who so resembled his idiot former friend. 

“Varric.” She began. _Shit._ He thought. His eyes found hers across the fire, and he sighed. 

“Silver.” Her response was to raise an eyebrow. The question written in her violet eyes. He sighed again. 

“Remember how I said that Cassandra brought me to the Conclave because I had information about the beginning of the mage rebellion? I have that information because I was with Hawke when it happened. In fact the guy in question happened to be a friend of mine at the time. That apostate looked exactly like Blondie, from a distance. He moved like him, cast spells like him, and I froze up when I saw him. Without Anders doing what he did, none of this would have happened. To think he was across the battle field from me, I’m not sure what I would have done if it had been him. I suppose had I thought about it before I had acted, I would have remembered that Anders is probably in hiding from the rest of the Templars and Mages, but heat of the battle and all that.” 

“Wait a second. You knew the mage that blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall?” asked Dorian incredulously. Varric shrugged, the rings off the edges of his ears gleaming in the firelight. 

“At that point, it appeared that what he wanted was freedom for the mages. Granted, Kirkwall was getting pretty bad at the time for anyone who had magic, but I don’t know why he figured that was the best bet for mage freedom from the circle.” 

“Didn’t the Champion let him go?” asked Blackwall. Varric nodded. “How could she do that? Didn’t he kill hundreds of people in that blast?” 

“Yeah, he did, and one of our companions, Sebastian Vael swore vengeance upon Kirkwall for Hawke not killing him for it. He later invaded Kirkwall.” Varric gazed pointedly at the fire, not wanting to remember his former home barely recovering from the attempted Qunari invasion, only to have it be ravaged again by Meredith, then Ander’s insane bit of terrorism, and finally invaded by Starkhaven. 

“But why did she not kill him then? Wasn’t the Champion supposed to protect the city?” Solas asked. Varric shrugged. 

“Faelan protected the city well. She did everything within her power to make sure that the damn place survived, and between Meredith and Anders and the Qunari, she almost died trying to keep it together.” 

“Then why didn’t she murder the apostate who’d threatened her home?” Varric thought a moment before answering. 

“She asked our opinion. While everyone’s opinions were fairly clear-“ 

“Clear?” asked Dorian. Varric gave him an irritated look. 

“Yeah. Most of them called for Ander’s death.” He paused, almost sadly. “Well, except for two of us, because I don’t think Isabella really had much of an opinion either way.” He gave a small sad grin at that before leaning back on his stone and taking another sip of tea. “I didn’t give a damn. I’d been fighting mages and Templars and watching everyone in between them getting hurt or killed. Both had issues, both had good points. Neither saw the other side the way they needed to be seen. There was fault on both sides, and at the end of the day, everyone suffered. She listened to the Dalish Mage Merrill. Daisy certainly had a different opinion than we did on a lot of things, but she suggested that Anders come along and try to put right what he had screwed up. I think Hawke was sick of killing, and she didn’t want to have to kill her friend too. I think she wanted to think that Blondie could start fixing some of the damage he’d done. Maybe part of it was that she wanted him to be alive to see exactly what his choices would do to the world. But thinking back on it, we still had Templars to fight that night, and I think part of it was that she didn’t have a stronger healer than Blondie. So she kept him alive for the fight, and so he could see what he had wrought. When we left Kirkwall, he didn’t take long before he ran off. I think the guilt got to him. Him and that stupid spirit of Vengeance, or Justice or whatever it was by the end of it.” Varric muttered the last sentence with a scowl as he took another drink of tea. 

“Spirit of Justice?” asked Solas. 

“Oh right. Anders made a friend with a spirit of Justice at one point or another, a spirit who ended up trapped outside the Fade. He offered himself as a host to it, and they merged. His anger against the circle and the chantry ended up twisting Justice into a spirit of Vengeance. By the end of it, he could barely tell who he was any more.” 

“And you figured that apostate was this Anders.” Said Eirian, holding her mug between her hands as her eyes held Varric’s across the fire. “What would you have done if it was him?” 

“Truthfully Silver? I don’t know. Somewhere between kicked him in the shins or put a bolt between his eyes. Maybe given him a broken nose for good measure. You have to understand that he was a decent friend for a long time in Kirkwall. He lost a lot of gold to me at Wicked Grace, and always managed to pull us out of scrapes when we needed it. The guy was one gifted healer. I trusted that son of a bitch with my back, and with my friend’s backs. Had I known he was going to do what he did… Well, I didn’t know. None of us did.” He sighed gently. “I’m sorry Silver. My screw up almost got you killed. If Dorian hadn’t shown up when he did…”  
“If Dorian hadn’t been there when he did, I would have died. I know this. Subsequently, thank you all. I suppose at this point I owe you my life a few times over.”  
“Finish saving the world, and you’re fine with me.” Said Dorian. Blackwall and Solas only nodded in response. Clearing his throat, Blackwall looked at Solas.  
“I … err, believe that I took out my panic on you earlier Solas. It was not becoming of me at all, and you did not deserve it. I apologise for it.” Solas looked at Blackwall like he’d grown a second nose, obviously not expecting this response. 

“It’s…alright Blackwall. We were all worried for the safety of the Herald.” 

“You know, I’m sitting right here. There’s no need to refer to me as if I’m a paragon somewhere far away.” She cut in, taking a drink from her cup. Solas’s mouth twisted in a grimace in response. She chuckled. 

“I think we should move out tomorrow morning and find Dennit, then we can get back to Haven. Preferably before Dorian is missed.” 

“Speaking of Sparkler…” 

“What.” Huffed Dorian as he turned towards Varric. 

“How did you get here so fast? You just... walked out of a firework into the tent?” Dorian was still for a moment. Pensively staring at the fire. 

“Would you believe I was napping?” 

“You were in the fade?” asked Solas, suddenly alert. Dorian’s mouth twisted upwards in a slight smile before he took another sip of still warm tea. 

“I was napping. Dreaming about Tevinter, if I recall. When I heard a voice, it was frantic. It told me that I was needed, she was dying and needed help that I needed to help. Then I had something dropped on my crotch, and the next thing I knew I was here. Turned out that the ‘she’ was you, Eirian, and what was dropped on me was the bag of potions. I also heard the same voice saying sorry as the last dregs of sleep slipped away.” 

“So something awoke you from a dream in the Fade, and sent you here, with exactly what we needed at the time we needed it?” asked Solas. 

“Essentially yes.” Replied Dorian. 

“That is… most odd.” He responded. 

“Creepy more like.” Said Varric. 

“I won’t look a gift in the mouth.” Blackwall took another dreg of tea, toasting the white haired elf at the other side of the fire as he did. “Especially since it brought our fearless leader back from the gates.” 

“Fearless leader.” She chortled quietly. “Yeah, the fearless leader who throws herself into battle and almost gets herself killed.” Her eyes twinkled as she covered her hand with her mouth. 

“Ah, but think what kind of stories it will inspire.” Varric responded. She gave the rogue a hard look before answering. 

“Yeah, stories spun by you Varric.” He looked offended as he responded. 

“I am but a businessman milady. I simply tell the truth.” 

_“The excitable truth perhaps.” Muttered Blackwall into his mug._

“Oh shut it Hero.” Varric said, making a face. 

“Well,” began Eirian as she finished her tea. “I’m off to bed. I might as well get some sleep in before we go hunting for horses.” She let everyone’s mouths open partway in protest before she added sharply. “The faster we find him, the faster we get back to haven and I can rest.” She stood gently and took a step before wobbling dangerously to the side. 

“I’m afraid you’re staying here Milady.” Responded Solas, catching her before she wobbled all the way over. “We cant risk you being damaged before you close the breach.” 

“More so than you already are.” Muttered someone around the fire. She flashed them a look that could melt metal, and none of them were brave enough to meet her gaze. 

“Cowards.” She muttered quietly. She took another step forward, only to have her legs completely collapse underneath her. Solas again caught her before she fell entirely to the ground, and this time simply scooped her up in his arms, carrying her bridal style. She opened her mouth to object before she saw his eyes. They were hard and firm and giving her a look that was about as sharp edged as hers was just moments ago. The look they had in them stated simply that she was not to protest, and she was not going to get her way about it, so she might as well accept it. The fight went out of her for once as she leaned back in his arms, refusing to enjoy the warmth that he radiated, or the fact that she was too tired to argue. He settled her down on her pallet as she leaned over gently to pull off her boots before lying down under a blanket he passed her. She gave him a quiet thank-you before she let her head hit the pillow. 

“We’re up at dawn to get to Dennit! “She called out of the cave as Solas stalked back to the fire. He shook his head subtly as Dorian handed him another cup of tea. Before withdrawing it when Solas shook his head at the cup and indicated his water skin instead. 

“She always this stubborn?” Dorian asked looking around at them. Blackwall, Solas and Varric looked at each other for a moment before giving a quiet, resounding “Yes” in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been weighing on my mind for a bit.  
> I'm currently going threw withdrawl from Inquisition. So, the fanfiction I'm reading is helping. you guys write really well.  
> At some point I should do shoutouts to the ones I really enjoy.  
> Anyway.  
> this entire thing was born from the fact that a great deal of the apostates you meet in the hinterlands look like Anders did. I was curious what would happen if Varric lost his cool because it looked too much like Anders.  
> The other thing that struck me is the idea of 'what happens if you dont have a healer in the party and you're out of potions? How would characters survive without help?'  
> Thus, while solas is usually my healer, I noticed recently that I reset his abilities for his fade walker ones, which left me without a healer. (which I discovered when I tried to take on a dragon WITHOUT a healer. Oh that was fun... not.)  
> Thus Dorian appears.  
> Perhaps with the influence of Cole, without knowing its Cole.  
> It was also fun trying to figure out tevinter and elvish swearing. I've been using it more in my regular speech as of late. How can you tell I've been playing to much ^^  
> Oh, btw. Origins is on for 15$ Canadian on the steam holiday sales if you'd like.  
> No DA2 yet, but I will one day remedy that. Hope you all are having a great holiday, hopefully soon to update. I think Solas wants to grill Dorian about this fade voice he heard, but the real question is as follows:  
> how will eirian cope with having to stay in bed and rest for as long as it takes to get her back to full health? ^^


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery doesn't sit so well with Eirian. Not when she has to stay in bed.

She had been furious when she had awoken the next day, stiff, swollen and being guarded by Solas. Her voice had been soft, but her eyes had been sparking dangerously as she coughed haphazardly when she tried to push herself up and ask where everyone else was. 

Solas’s answer had been that the rest of them had gone to find Horsemaster Dennet so that they could get her back to Haven. She had of course, refused to stay resting. But she did move slowly and gently when he refused to let her rush around and hurt herself again. She busied herself with collecting herbs around the area. Solas went with her, because he wasn’t going to let his charge out of his sight if he could help it. She knew that he took her injury seriously, and she wasn’t going to take that away from him. His glances when he thought she wasn’t looking told her that he felt overly guilty for not being able to help her when she had needed it. 

“So why the Fade?” she asked while she was gathering Elfroot from under a tree. His eyes sought hers as he gathered some embrium from a set of rocks not far from her. 

“Mostly because for a young elf in the North, there was little else to do. The Fade offered me places I could go that were more interesting than where I was at the time, so it was there that I found myself more comfortable than being awake.” 

“Yet you woke up it seems. Otherwise you would not be here.” 

“One can not always exist in dreams, you need to wake up eventually. I also found that I grew bored of the area I was in.”

“You can grow bored of the Fade?” she asked. He surveyed her as he took a moment to ponder his answer. Her eyes were bright. Far less angry than they had been earlier, but perhaps that was because she was feeling she was being useful.

“The Fade reflects the world around it. If I did not travel away from where I knew, I would never be able to see anything new. It also changes for the person that is observing it. So in order to find interesting things, one must be interesting.”

“Is that why you joined the Inquisition?” She was quietly scouting for more elfroot as she spoke, seeking either the spindly plant or some iron on the rock walls of the cliffs around them. She was still moving gingerly, aware that her body had not recovered at all, and that she was still susceptible to shock. In fact, at this point, she was asking him questions because she was curious, and because his voice, light and gentle as it was, kept her from floating away into being sick and giving into the feeling of freefall that came with having lost so much blood. She missed his gentle chuckle as he answered her question.

“I joined the Inquisition because the Breach was a major threat to the world. The inquisition seemed to be the only one doing anything about it. If I did not do what I could for the safety of the world, then I would have no where to put my head to dream of the Fade.” She gave him the ghost of a grin for the easy logic that seamed to pervade his mind. 

“Well, I wish you luck in that vein of your existence.” She replied. 

“Thank you. In truth I have enjoyed experienced more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“Oh?”

“Well you train to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side effect. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads you to a destination you enjoy. As have I.” She pondered his words for a moment. Wondering as to the truth of that revelation that she was walking to where she wished to be. She didn’t think it so truthful, thinking that she’d been more pushed onto this pathway than she had wished to walk it. Something stuck out in her mind though. 

“Wait, you’re… suggesting I’m graceful?” Her voice had a question in it. She wasn’t entirely sure. Had she thought about it, she would have been trying to not be so shocked by his commentary. IF she was shocked by this, she was entirely flabbergasted by his next comment. 

“No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.” His tone was such that the words left his mouth and became fact. She had to stop herself from going bright red, and almost succeeded, except for the tips of her pointed ears, which conveniently turned bright pink. 

“I-err... Thank you.” She responded. He had to stifle a grin and a laugh at her response. He didn’t expect the declaration to have such an effect on her. For her part, she was trying to keep the blush down. She didn’t realize she could be so effected like that. But then again, who had she ever had to practice being complemented with? No one in the clan really ever tried. She’d been called more than a few things while she was out there, ‘freak’ being one of them, as well as... less kind names. 

She was used to being disliked, feared, etc. She wasn’t used to the fact that people appeared to like her, or to call her graceful. She was certainly sure of herself. For what she did, she was damn good at it. Healing, periodically, she knew how to hunt, and had just started her training with the Keeper as her replacement when her talents at being a spy had become more necessary for the conclave. So she’d left, and then the Inquisition had happened. So here she was. Now she was a Hearald instead of a keeper. She wasn’t sure what was worse. The thought drove the pleasant distraction Solas had given her out of her mind as she sat staring off the edge of the cliff out onto the Kings Road and the people she’d worked so hard to save. The refugees were starting to rebuild now that the apostates and the Templars were mostly dealt with. 

“Hey Broody!” came a voice. She spun around to place it, and suddenly regretted it as she fought for her breath and against the pain that the twist had brought. Varric, Dorian and Blackwall approached, Varric had a silly grin on his face that made her think she wouldn’t enjoy what came out of his mouth next. 

“Finished brooding over there Silver?” He asked. 

“I wasn’t brooding.” She responded. He scoffed in response.

“Yeah, someone else I knew used to say that too. He was lying then as well.” She bristled enough that Dorian felt he had to intervene.

“We found your horse master. We even placed beacons for watch towers that his man at arms wanted built before Dennet would give us horses. His lady wanted us to kill wolves too, but we figured we’d get you fixed up before we went hunting for them. He wanted to meet the one who could close the rifts, but again, we figured we should get your strength back before we introduced you to the man.” 

“Nice work.” She praised. 

“Does this mean you’ll get some rest instead of traipsing about then?” Solas fixed her with a serious look that was almost a glare that earned him a response of rolled eyes. 

“Fine fine, whatever. Let’s just get back to Haven. Since you all are so insistent about it.” She growled. 

“We are Milady.” Said Blackwall, giving a slight bow to where the rest of the camp was. 

They reached Haven later that day. Dennet had given them enough horses that they could ride to and from Haven with ease, he'd also found Eirian a Hart, where her beloved Halla were no where to be found. The ride was tough on her, even as gentle as her giant Hart was, but she kept going. Her party however, saw right threw her tough act to the slight grimaces she made when there was a particularly large bump. Her Hart was really a gentle ride, but it didn’t do much for a still healing elf. 

I should be able to do this. She thought. I’ve been threw worse. Solas didn’t care however, and ordered her to bed. So as soon as she was within range of safety, she was off into bed. She entered the camp, and essentially disappeared. 

Again. 

 

Her friends quietly informed Cassandra about what was happening, and Cassandra informed the war council. The three of them gaped at what Cassandra and Varric told them, but generally received it well. Cullen and Lelliana recovered quickest, while Josephine stood there with her mouth hanging open. 

“Whats wrong Ruffles? Forgot that she was mortal too?” asked Varric. The Antivan diplomat quickly regained her composure and spoke. 

“No, not at all. I simply was imagining how incredibly lucky she was to have Dorian appear when he did.”

“Yes, a bit odd that.” Responded Cassandra. “She must be blessed of the Maker to have the luck she does.” 

“Or something else is keeping an eye on her from the fade.” Muttered Varric darkly. The three advisors looked at him. He waved away their gaze. “Check Dorian’s report. It explains it better than I could.” Cullen cleared his throat quietly.

“Is she able to have guests at all?” All the eyes in the room were suddenly upon him. 

“Commander?” asked Cassandra. It took all of Cullen’s considerable will to not go red on them. But he couldn’t keep the stutter from his lips as he responded. 

“I just thought she might be restless.” Varric laughed out loud as a response. 

“The way Solas sent her off to bed when she got back, she’ll be out of bed faster than you can spit. Probably avoiding all of us who want us back in bed anyway. Good luck finding her Curly.” Varric was still chuckling as he marched out the door. 

 

Blackwall leaned against the side of the smith’s hut and looked at the Breach. It was something he did often when he was back in Haven. He was surprised when the small elf that he’d accompanied back and forth to the hinterlands appeared out of nowhere to be at his side. He fixed her with a small glare before she held up her hands. 

“I was only coming to see how you were doing. I swear I’ll be back in bed once I see that everyone’s alright.”

“My lady. Are you feeling better?”

“Much. Thank you Blackwall.” They returned to a companionable silence as she sought where his gaze was pointed. 

“Its so much easier to ignore when you’re out in the wilds.” He said. His gaze showing exactly what he was talking bout. He gave her a sidelong glance. “To actually walk out of it, to be that close…”

“I have no idea how I survived. I guess I was just very lucky.”

“I’m not so sure that luck had much to do with it Milady.”

“What do you think did then?” she asked, eagar for his perspective. To her disappointment, he only shrugged. 

“I couldn’t tell you what is really in store for you. Or how you survived. I’m just grateful that you did. But that’s not the only thing on my mind.” He turned to face her as she lifted her eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “The Breach, the Divine’s death, the Wardens…. It doesn’t make sense. Theres so much we don’t know.”

“Well at least with your input, it will help us with the Wardens. It wont take us much to find out the rest.” His eyebrows rose at her declaration.

“It speaks well of me that you assume that I am so capable my lady.”

“You’ve given me no reason to doubt you.” He gave her a slight bow in response. 

“I can only hope that I continue to earn your respect than.” 

“I see no reason why you wouldn’t.” she responded. He gaped a little at her before clearing his throat and changing the subject. She watched his eyes become harder and as he got his ‘back to business’ face on. 

“So, you already know something of me. What about you? Where do fit into all of this?” She thought for a moment before responding. 

“I just want to help stop the war… Well, as much as I can right now. But I want to try to put things back in order.” He nodded at her, apparently approving. 

“A worthy goal, one I’m happy to support.” His face changed, growing darker. She cocked her head to the side as she listened to his words and put his anger and his determination together with is facial features. “For me, I’ll be satisfied so long as we find the bastards that killed the Divine. They owe us some answers.” 

“There going to give us some.” She muttered darkly. He almost jumped. Her tone and her facial features, which never strayed far beyond determined, neutral or slightly irked, had strayed into dangerously low and vicious. He’d never seen that look to her before, but he knew that he’d never want that look ever turned his way. She was a scary little wild cat when she needed to be, he’d seen that more than once on the battle field. This made the look she’d given Varric a few days hence look tame in comparison. He cleared his throat, and changed the subject. Hoping that the distraction would make her loose her vicious look. It did.

“I’ve heard of abandoned Warden Camps all over these parts. Should we have time, I’d like to take a look. See if there’s anything we can salvage.” 

“You’re oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest.” She had the ghost of a grin hovering about her lips. He took the compliment in stride. 

“I always thought myself more odd than charming, but I’ll take a compliment from a lady. They’re hard to come by these days.” _Well yeah,_ she thought. _If you spend all your time without ladies around, then of course they’d be hard to come by._ She wondered how exactly a charming creature such as him could get away without ladies around, and figured that would be the next logical step in their banter. 

“So is it ladies? Or compliments that are hard to come by?” she was startled by his laughter, but allowed the grin, which had been a ghost to appear more thoroughly on her lips.   
“Both, of Course. So was there something large and heavy you needed moved?” He asked. 

“Oh come now. That would be a waste of your particular talents.” His eyebrow raised in a query. 

“Oh, really?” There was a sudden softness to his voice she couldn’t place, an allure that she wasn’t sure about. Without a beat, she responded. 

“You’re much better suited to standing in front of dragons while they try to eat you.” He gave her a grin and a chuckle for that, and she figured she’d won a victory from the Warden. 

“I have to say my lady, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” The tips of her ears went pink, and she did her level best to keep her cheeks from doing the same.   
_She is ribbed easily._ He thought, somewhat amused by the idea. _For someone who engages in flirtatious banter so easily, she’s not so good at being flirted with herself._ But he had meant what he said, and he meant what he continued with. “I’m flattered you’d spend any time with me. I… enjoy your company.” The confession was as much for his sake as it was for hers. But the mischievous side of himself enjoyed the response it had on her. This time the blush did reach her cheeks, and she stuttered her response. 

“I err… Thank-you, Sir Blackwall. I enjoy yours as well.” Bowing quickly to him, she caught the look of a figure without any hair ambling towards them, and took off around the smith’s hut. Blackwall flattened his back against the side of the fence as Solas came striding up to him.

“You wouldn’t have seen a lady Dalish who isn’t in bed would you?” he asked accusingly. 

“When I saw her last she said that she’d be in bed as soon as she could. So I’d assume she’s already there. I haven’t seen her recently however.”

“Hmm..” came the response as Solas walked away. Blackwall chuckled at them both. 

Cassandra was working on her swings when she approached quietly from behind. Her recently replaced training dummies looked like they had been attacked. As the Lady Seeker placed strikes in precise areas on the dummies, Eirian observed from a distance. The Seeker had black, almost purple short hair. It was styled so that it had a braid wrapped around the crown of her head, making her wonder if her hair was really as short as it appeared. Her face was scarred, but pretty when she smiled. Cassandra rarely smiled, she was usually business. But the elf looked up to the seeker. She had done nothing but good since Eirian had met her, despite the rocky beginning of their meeting. Being a prisoner that is hated by most of the world for something you don’t know if you did or not, is not a great way to start a relationship. But it had worked for them so far.   
The Seeker noticed her observer and fixed her with a stern but motherly glare. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping from a near death injury?” she asked with the accent that Eirian couldn’t place. Eirian gave a grimace. 

“Did Solas tell you so? Momma Solas just wants me in bed because that’s where I should be right now, and he can’t figure out why I keep eating threw his sleeping spells. If I’m in bed, than he can try to figure it out. Preferably asleep so it doesn’t look so weird.” Cassandra grinned at that. 

“Well you should still rest Lavallen. We need you in your best shape for what is to come.” 

“Yes, we need to solve that, don’t we?” Eirian turned to look at the Breach. The hole in the sky still seemed as if it were in stasis, waiting for them to do something about it. It had turned the sky green, and almost appeared to lead to somewhere brighter than where they were now. It was a very surreal thing to see in what was normally a blue clear sky in the mountains. 

“You’ve said you don’t believe you’re chosen. Does that mean you don’t believe in the Maker?” asked Cassandra. Eirian looked sharply at her. 

“Where did that question come from?” 

“It’s been something I’ve been curious about. You are Dalish, yet you invoke the Maker during battles, or when you seem particularly flustered.”

“When you are within a group of people who believe something, if you mean to curse, you should probably use a deity they are familiar with, rather than your own. People fear the wrath of the god they know, rather than the one they are less familiar with. I may call upon the Dread Wolf to take any of my enemies the way you call upon the Maker to take yours, but I highly doubt that the apostates or the rogue Templars of the Hinterlands would fear my wrath as much as yours.” 

“That didn’t answer my question.” 

“No. It didn’t.” She paused for a moment. “I am Dalish, I believe in our pantheon, but I don’t see why the Maker could not be included. Weather I am ‘chosen’ by any of them, or the Maker, is a different story.” 

“I suppose it is. But I need to believe you were put on this path by the Maker, even if you do not.” Eirian nodded in agreement at Cassandra’s words. But she hid the fear that was bubbling up in her stomach. The fear of realizing that she might be chosen of the Maker, or of any of her own pantheon, and what that might entail. Along with the equally terrifying fear that if she wasn’t ‘chosen’, than she might be leading her people into even more of an uncertain future than before. She gulped quietly before nodding at Cassandra and taking her leave of the conversation. Making her way to the cottage they had given her, she found she fell into a deep, if restless sleep. 

Her eyes opened to see the coals of a dying fire, and black. Coughing, she sat up and listened. There was only the soft crackle of her fireplace, and no other sounds.   
_Like clockwork._ She thought with some degree of regret. Cast sleep spells on her, and she’d wake up a few hours before dawn wide awake. Well, might as well get back into practice. She thought, getting up out of bed and stoking the fire back to something that cast warmth and long flickering shadows around the room. She started with stretching, gently, and worked her way into a series of poses that awakened the body and got it ready to move. They were gentle, and easy to work through, causing only the amount of pain that came with being out of practice with them. Having finished that, she bundled up warmly but lightly and went out into the chilled outdoors.   
She lapped the entirety of Haven twice before arriving back at her dwelling to gain her knives. She set a pot of tea to warm inside as she began a slow and careful dance of blades. At this point she’d passed enough time that the sun was beginning to rise over the edges of the mountains and beginning to paint the snow in a palette of orange, red and pink. Sunrise was a glorious time, but not something she was paying attention to as she drew her blades and her body threw a series of maneuvers to keep herself limber.   
It was a slow dance with enemies that were not there. Movements were made that would otherwise be made in a moment, her body moving with a slow and practiced precision that came from practice both on and off the battle field. 

“That is beautiful.”

The voice startled her, and she leapt into the air, pulling a blade from the sheath at the small of her back and throwing it towards the origin of the voice. As she landed in a crouch her eyes sought her blade, and the source of the voice.

“Cullen!” she cried, utterly mortified. He was standing there in what appeared to be training gear. Leggings and tunic without most of his plate armour with his shield around his back and his long sword on his hip, looking between her and the blade that stuck at his feet in a snowbank.

“I am suddenly glad that your aim is not as good as your accuracy with your short blades Milady.” He said, handing her the tiny knife with a gleam of amusement in his eye.   
“I am grateful that my body has not fully recovered for fear of what I would have done to you if it had been.” She responded morosely. “May I ask that in future you do not sneak up on me like that?” 

“Sneak up on you? I have been here for the last half hour observing your blade dance. If that is what it can be called? I was planning to do some training myself, but I found myself far more entranced with whatever it was you were doing.” She gave him a slight bow, refusing in the case to go red over the compliment.   
“You’re an early riser Commander?” he gave her an earnest grin. 

“Templars rise early.” He responded. 

She studied him as they spoke. His eyes were warm, amber coloured. His hair was blonde, and pushed back from the way that he brushed it back when he was flustered. He still sported the slight scruff that made him look distinguished. She supposed that shaving was probably one of the last things on his mind. 

“You always appear early to train?” He shrugged. 

“I’ve been trying to get into a habit of it. I run drills with the men, but I wanted something more routine. I won’t have anyone saying that I can’t keep up with my own recruits.” Her response was a grin. “What of yourself milady? Do you always rise early to train?” she shook her head. 

“I eat sleeping spells, to the point that I always awake early when someone casts them. Today I figured that it would be easier to be busy than it was to get lost in guilt.” Her face suddenly contorted in an irritated scowl that lasted all of .2 seconds, as if she’d realized that she’d said something she hadn’t wanted to say in the first place. 

“Guilt, milady?” he asked. She looked away. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her and waited for an answer. When she did speak, it was in a soft, almost meek tone.

“Did Cassandra speak to you of the Templar in Val Royeaux that stood up to the Lord Seeker?” 

“I believe she did, I think I might even know the lad. Delrin Barris I believe is whom he is.” 

“Something wasn’t right in Val Royeaux. I don’t tend to like Templars much normally, but something was truly wrong in that city that day. When it came down to a choice, I felt like the Templars felt as if they were following a voice that wouldn’t lead them astray, but the Mages were being locked into chains and used as bait for Fen’Harel. I thought that the mages needed more help than the Templars, who seemed to have everything within their Order under control. At the time, it felt like the right choice. But while I don’t think I would go back on it now, I worry that maybe there was something else at work that day, and that I’ve left many good Templars to a fate that is on par with being indentured to Tevinter. I would have liked to see a man as commendable as Delrin Barris working for the Inquisition, but in his absence, I feel as though I may have committed a grave error.” 

“You can’t save everyone Eirian.” Cullen said gravely. 

“I should be able too. If I am the chosen one, as many of those who have joined the Inquisition believe, shouldn’t I be able to help everyone who needs help? Shouldn’t I be able to make certain that all the good people not end up believing that their gods had forsaken them? What good is being chosen, what good is having people hang on your every word if you can’t save the people who can’t save themselves?” Her questions ended in a slight hiccup that made Cullen seek her gaze. He caught the glimmer of fresh tear trails on her cheeks before he stepped forward and hugged her close to him. 

“Being a ‘Chosen One’ is a powerful thing, but it also comes with responsibility. You’ve already correctly assumed that your responsibility was to close the Breach. Everything else that you’ve done is a testament to your strength of character and the honor that you have. But you must distance yourself from the idea that you have to save all people, because at the end of the day, you will kill yourself trying to save them and you will only wear out yourself. Save as many as you can, but do not kill yourself in the attempt. We still need you Milady, the dead find rest at the hands of the Maker, we must continue on ourselves.” She cried in his arms, refusing to let out any noise, but the tears streamed down her cheeks as her pain found its way from her system. He only held her, refusing to let go until he was certain that she was alright. He waited for her small frame to stop shaking before seeking his pockets for a handkerchief. He blushed as he recalled he was in training leathers, which did not have pockets. 

“It appears as though I’ve forgotten my handkerchief milady.” She was wiping away her tears as she grinned at him before bowing low in response. 

“It is alright Ser Commander; I should not have been so tearful anyway.” He gave her a sad grin at that. 

“You should have seen me question some of the things I’ve done then, if you think this is a disgraceful thing for you to be seen doing, imagine me crying my eyes out for similar reasons.” She returned his grin. 

“At least I know I’m not alone then.” He shook his head. 

“No, you are not, but do not let it eat you up, otherwise you will find yourself eaten alive.” She nodded looking around. He noted her sudden lost look and wasn’t sure what to do with himself about it. “I-err… I’m sorry if I have disturbed you and your routine my lady.” His blush made her grin; it reached all the way to the tips of his ears. She would have to make him blush more often, if it was going to be that amusing. 

“Would you like to spar Commander?” she asked suddenly. The blush dropped from his face as he looked at her critically. 

“Would you even be up for that now milady?” She shrugged. 

“Momma Solas may say what he wishes, but I need to be back in fighting shape, we’ve got a Breach to close.” Her eyes turned up to the giant hole in the sky, watching as rocks the size of a horse floated up and down, before turning back to her commander. 

“Well?” she asked. 

“I-err… Don’t wish to be the one who reopens any wounds milady.” She rolled her eyes. 

“En Garde Commander!” 

They did spar, Cullen took it easy on her, in order to make certain she wasn’t reopening wounds. He won some, due to superior Templar footwork, and she won some, due to pure blinding speed. They decided to make sure they would give each other a better shot when she was healed and the Breach was closed. They finally stopped when the camp began working itself back to life for the day. He marched off to start his day, and she wandered off to read, because Creators knew that Solas wouldn’t allow her to be back in the field until she was healed. 

It took her less than a week before she was going stir crazy, and Solas relented two days after that. 

Wolves were slain, the horsemaster was even convinced to tend to the mounts he’d offered the Inquisition himself, (with much thanks to Dorian’s underhanded methods) and the Hart that he’d offered her was an incredible beast. She felt so in control when she was sitting up behind his horns. She decided to wait on naming him, figuring that she needed some other reason to want to confront the hole in the sky. 

They rode into Haven victorious. 

The door to the war room banged open. Her advisers hadn’t been there to watch her ride in triumphantly, she had one of the scouts at the Farmlands Camp in the Hinterlands send a bird ahead with a message that she wanted to see them immediately when she got back. In fact, she didn’t even look up at them as she strode threw the door as if a woman possessed. Pulling out a knife from off her hip, she slammed it into the site of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cullen had told her before she had left to go see Dennit that the best of the Mages were ready. All that remained was that she be ready herself. 

“Ready the Mages. We’re going to seal the Breach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions? Thoughts? Ideas?
> 
> I'm writing another fic with this as well, which may or may not end up with overlapping characters.   
> Eirian is a lot more happy than my other Dalish Inquisitor. If you like this one, you may not like the other one. But at the same time, I would never say no to opinions^^  
> Hope you all had a great Christmas and New Years, or whatever holiday you celebrate!


	5. Ice and Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Your Heart Shall Burn... and the aftermath.

She lay on the ice, every piece of her aching, her mind racing. She stared upwards at what looked to be crossbeams, snow, debris and whatever remained of Haven. Her unfocused eyes caught a glimpse of one of the beams above her.

_Oh. That must be the one that I bounced off of._ She thought, her mind not processing the entire thing. It was one of those things that at best were processed over time, if it was ever processed at all. But some piece of her mind, dazed as it was told her that moving was the best option, otherwise death would soon follow.

She questioned that part of her mind, wondering why death would be so close to whisking her away with it. All she could comprehend was an insistence that she do her level best to get up and move.

Sitting up was agony, but nothing that couldn’t be handled. She theorized that there was potentially a broken rib or a few. Her legs were unsteady, and on the ice, that meant she slipped to her knees again. Flinging out a hand to stop the descent from becoming a face plant, she squawked with the pain of her shoulder, arm and wrist.

_What had happened!?_ The part of her mind that wasn’t urging her to move asked. Then all at once, it came back in a horrible quick storm. Sealing the Breach, coming back to seeing her friends celebrate. An alarm, no banner, and a voice that knocked at the door, the speaker had a big hat. He was telling her that she was in danger. Trebuchets, a dragon, and then saving people. Red knights and red lyrium. Her heart strings were suddenly plucked in ways that they should never have been touched. She’d lost Adan, and Minave, She had been there, trying to get pots and debris off of Minave, only to have them explode out from under her. Her hands and shins had caught the shrapnel, and the sight of blood dripping from her hands over the charred body of the elven researcher made her stop. Cassandra had to remind her what was at stake when they came back for her after saving Threin from invading enemy Templars. Because she hadn’t moved from the charred body of the lithe creature she’d tried to save.

No, strike that, enemy _Red_ Templars.

Those she hadn’t saved from the “Elder One.”

She’d been lucky. She hadn’t seen anyone looking like Delrin Barris among them, but many had been unrecognizable as even human, let alone as individual people. But the weight of what had happened burned coldly in her heart, and in her thoughts, all the way down to her soul.

They’d saved Flissa, Lysette, and Seggrid. Cassandra, Varric and Solas had managed to save Therin as well, but as Eirian ran across other skeletons of those who had appeared because of her, trusted her to be their ‘herald’, her heart continued sinking. They pounded into the Chantry opening, fleeing what appeared to be a dragon, which chilled her blood colder than it was already. Roderick met them at the door, before collapsing into the arms of the boy with the big hat, the one who had warned them. The boy explained that the Chancellor had tried to stop a Templar, that he’d been stabbed, and he was going to die.

The short moment of levity that happened when the Chancellor commented on the boy’s lack of bedside manner was lost on Eirian. Hearing what the Chancellor had done, seeing him fall, added to the burden she felt. Somewhere, something vital snapped within her, or perhaps it had never been whole to begin with.

Cullen charged up to her revealing what she already suspected, that the dragon had stolen whatever they had gained in time. The boy who was caring for Roderick suggested that it was an Archdemon, but while that would have scared others, at that moment, Eirian was only hiding the rage, so it just gave her another target to murder.

The idea that this ‘Elder One’ only wanted her wasn’t really surprising, but responding to that threat was difficult. Her tongue snaked between her dry and cracked lips, attempting to bring moisture to them, and failing.

“I would give myself up in a second if it meant stopping further death. But he won’t take just me, and I want revenge for those he’s stolen from us already. How do I stop him?” she growled.

“It won’t be easy, he has a dragon.” the boy replied.

“We know what he-!” said Cullen, exasperated. He turned back to the elf with a sigh. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“What of our people? We’re overrun already. If we hit the enemy we’d bury Haven!” Her voice wasn’t used to roaring like this, and the rawness of her voice showed.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” Her Commander continued with a softer tone. He could see the guilt in her glare, knew exactly where it came from, and found himself wanting to reach for her. To comfort her, to tell her that she’d done everything right, that she’d done the best she could, that no one could have planned for this. But he knew himself that none of those reassurances were necessarily correct. They stared at each other, her furious glare barely shifting in the wake of her rage, and his eyes trying to tell her that he was sorry. He wasn’t sure exactly what for, because ‘everything’ was a little too broad of a topic. The boy with the big hat began to speak, and it brought them back to the moment.

“Yes, that! Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.” Her eyes turned to the wounded man.

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’ve made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.” He rose from his chair. “The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could…tell you.”

“Please explain.” She said softly.

“It was whim that I walked the path, I did not mean to start-it was overgrown. Now with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one that remembers… I don’t know Herald. If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.” She considered his word before answering.

“Cullen, get them out. If that thing is here for me, I’ll make him fight for it.” Her growl was back a low rumble in her chest, while around her lips, a small wicked smile played. Cullen’s heart twisted as he saw the slight upturn in her lips. He knew that those who normally had that smile in the face of such danger did not return.

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” he asked, reaching for her arm, his face full of concern. For a moment her eyes softened. She turned away rather than let him see it, but he caught a glimpse as she did. He refused to let her see that he was afraid too. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” He turned away, back to business.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” She watched as injured solders helped others up and followed.

“Herald.” Roderick started, hanging off of the boy. “If the Inquisition is meant for this, if _you_ are meant for this, than I pray for you.” Eirian’s voice almost broke as she thanked him.

She stood staring at the door and whatever was past it.

“A suicide mission? I’m not letting you go alone Silver.” a voice behind her said. She turned. Varric stood there, Bianca over his shoulder.

“Blood, gore and dragon? Count me in too.” Her eyes moved up to the grey skinned creature with horns. He mimicked Varric with a massive greatsword.

“Templars at your back are never a good thing, I’m going too.” Solas appeared beside them.

“I’m not letting you go with just them either.” Blackwall.

“You’re too entertaining to let die, so if I can help, I’m coming.” Dorian leaned on the wall beside them all.

“I don’t like this Elder one, but I like you, and if it means we save a lot of little people, than that’s pretty important too innit!?” Sera stood between Dorian and Solas with her arms crossed.

“The Inquisition needs you. I’m not letting you go alone.” Cassandra.

“Anyone else?” she asked tiredly.

“It seems Lady Vivienne decided that her talents would be better suited to helping those fleeing the Chantry.” Said Cassandra.

“Then why aren’t you all helping her!?” she scowled at them. Some of her companions had the sense to look shamed. “This Elder one doesn’t care who gets in the middle, why wouldn’t you all put your considerable talents to making sure they’re all going to survive!”

“Silver,” Varric started, he visibly flinched when she turned her furious eyes on him, but forged forwards anyway.

“Have you forgotten who can seal rifts? And you’re going out _alone_!?” Cassandra cut across him.

“It won’t matter if we’re all dead before those rifts are closed.” She said flatly before sighing. She looked up and at her companions.

“Cassandra, you are a seeker, and integral to the Inquisition. You are not coming.” The Seeker opened her mouth to argue, but Eirian silenced her with a glare. Her mouth snapped closed, she knew that the elf was right.

“Solas, your fade studies have helped everyone more than they know. To lose you would be a terrible blow to the inquisition, and I will not allow it. Dorian, you have incredible information about the Venatori that no one else has, or has access too. You can’t come either.” Dorian also opened his mouth to protest, but she cut past him like a warm knife through butter. “Iron Bull, you have a network that the Inquisition cannot lose, to lose that would be incredibly damaging to the Inquisition. We’ve still got a dragon in the Hinterlands to go after, I need you fit for then.” Her eyes twinkled sadly at that statement. “Blackwall, your Warden contacts would leave us without a significant amount of good if we lost you. I cannot in good conscious ask you to come. Sera, the Inquisition needs Red Jenny and her Friends, and you’re small enough that the dragon might just eat you. I care about you too much to see you get eaten.” She said with a wink. Sera nodded unhappily. “Varric, in the midst of this hell, you do one of the most important things yet. You make people forget their pain and fear, you make people laugh. With this in mind, you need to go with the survivors to make sure there are smiles when this is done.”

She looked up as Cullen approached again.

“We have men loading the trebuchets. Keep the Elder one’s attention until we’re above the treeline. You need to keep that thing’s attention if we’re to have a chance, if _you_ are to have chance.” She nodded her eyes hard.

“All the time in the world Commander, get them to safety please.” He nodded at her, holding her eyes for a moment longer as he realized that he may have just lost a chance for something incredible, and regretting that he didn’t have the time or the energy to tell her that, or show her in front of her companions. When he didn’t leave, she looked at him again. “Commander, go.”

“But-“ he began, only to have her shake her head at him.

She looked at them all with a soft smile. “Don’t assume that I send you off because I don’t want your help, in fact there are no others that I’d rather go up against dragons with. But not this time, not when so many others need you. I’ll see you all on the other side.” She smiled a rakish grin before sweeping back her leg and sinking into a deep bow. The door was open and shut before they knew what to do.

Cassandra, Sera and Cullen started helping some of the stragglers out of the Chantry, while the rest looked at each other before beginning to follow.

Barely into the tunnel that led to safety, Blackwall turned and started jogging back in the direction they’d come. Dorian looked at Varric and they took off after the Warden without a word. The others of course, noticed, but they knew that too many others would make a target worth going after, so they did what they could and sent prayers to whatever gods they worshiped as they helped the Inquisition along.

 

 

Eirian was deadly with her blades, whirling around in circles, her hunter coat following her moves as she became a flying Devenish of death. A Templar blade to the back of her shoulder stopped her dancing with a roar, which was answered with a similar noise that came as she thrust one of her blades up through his chin and out of his skull. A sword came out through the front of another Templar that wished to skewer her, while she suddenly noticed that she’d been coated in a barrier. She turned to elbow another Templar in the throat when a bolt blossomed where she’d aimed. She shook her head gently at those who refused to follow instructions, but with her shoulder the way it was now, she probably needed them far more than she wanted to admit.

They fought on, threw more red Templars, a behemoth or two, and managed to aim the trebuchet towards the mountain above Haven. She looked up at the sky to see a flying shape approaching. She and her companions started backing away from it.

“Move, now!” she ordered. They scattered as red fire came spewing out of the sky. She didn’t see where anyone else was, but could barely see anything as she bounced ass over teakettle. She lay on the ground, seeing the sky past the stars that danced in her eyes, before she remembered that she had limbs and needed to rise. Threw the fire she saw something vaguely humanoid approach. The rest of the episode was burnt into her mind, as if she saw it playing out in front of her again. What it’d said, what it’d claimed, the fact that whatever it’d done had made her hand scream in pain. It was still screaming in pain, pulsing, and causing her agony.

She looked at her hand, the green mark flashing in the darkness. It was the only light in the cave of ice and rock that she’d tossed herself into. Which had seemed like a really good idea at the time, and truthfully it was probably why she was still alive and not buried by snow she’d never be found under. The landing had not been fun, but now that she thought of it, since she’d spotted the dragon through the clouds as it circled down to spew fire at them, everything had been going more and more south. She’d gone flying ass over teakettle, probably sustained at least minor bruising if not a concussion before she had to deal with a _fucking darkspawn magister,_ who had picked her up by the arm that’d been damaged in the fighting with Templars. Probably dislocated it, gauging by the amount of pain she was in right now. Then again, he’d picked her up by the wrist and held her up to his eye level, which she was pretty sure, was almost twice her height. He’d then tossed her away, like she was nothing more than a ragdoll to be thrown around. She’d landed against the steel and hard wood braces of the trebuchet, and she didn’t even want to think about what kind of damage that had done. She remembered telling the red lyrium encrusted deformed creature who had declared himself a magister, and wanna-be god to essentially piss off, kicking the lever that launched rocks at the mountain and booking it for wherever had appeared ‘safe’. Barrelling into a hole that she had never seen before, and never would have if the avalanche bearing down on her hadn’t shaken the earth enough that it revealed it’s coverings, she’d leapt into it, smashing herself into a sturdy beam before finding herself lying on her back, waiting for the screeching from the dragon as it probably flew the bastard who had killed so many of her people away, to stop echoing around in her ears.

It took her a while to realize that the screeching was probably in her head, not her ears.

Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and impossible to move. Her mind swam. All she could feel was pain. Wounds that dripped blood from her thin form from battling Templars covered in red crystals that poked out of where their skin used to be, or out from between armour plates. Her shoulder was screaming in pain, her back was at best bruised to the void, at worst, there may be a few ribs broken.

She lay on the black cracked cold surface of ice, trying to discover a reason to move again, trying to remember what had seemed so massively urgent. Why she had felt that she needed to move with all deliberate speed. She’d just been battered and thrown around. Couldn’t people give her a _break_ for once?

The light on her hand flared, casting flickering sickly green shadows around the icy cave, with it, a particularly biting pain that grew to include the rest of her palm. It reminded her that the anchor was still there, and now it had a name. Recognition of the consequences of what she’d discovered rippled across her mind like a drop on a pool of water.

_That’s a reason to move_. She thought. _I have to get to the rest of them and tell them what we face. I can’t let them be out there without knowing._

That was a reason, that was a goal, and it gave her the fire she needed to attempt to push herself up. She used her uninjured arm, and cradled the injured one as she stumbled towards the only available direction that the path allowed her.

Demons interrupted her stumbling again, but the mark almost did as it wanted, opening what appeared to a tiny rift in the cave and pulling everything into it. She figured she should be impressed, but she was too tired to consider it. The path of ice and cave lead to light, which she happily embraced, even if it lead to binding snow and bone chilling wind.

It didn’t take her long to discover that her goal was really the only thing that was keeping her going. Her refusal to stop was probably the only thing that kept her moving, even if it was only half steps in knee deep snow. She stopped noticing how cold she was after a time, she didn’t notice the shivering, didn’t notice how her armour stuck to her, or how every step almost tripped her. She’d forgotten how little leather protected one from the blinding cold, how it froze solid before it kept you warm. It did manage to keep the heat in, if you had a heavy layer under it to keep the heat in, but her hunter coat had been built for maximum movement, not for warmth. It was only now, when it mattered, that she remembered that.

She didn’t know how long she walked for. What she did know is that she was going to die before she reached them.

She was somewhere in the woodlands, following a trail that she could only see because she’d been tracking since she was 4. The wind and snow had done a grand job of obscuring anything that would potentially count as a ‘track’.

But the fire that had gotten her up off the cave floor of cracked ice had become a goal. That goal was only as powerful as the emotions that went with it, and in the blistering cold, it had become something significantly more venomous in order to keep itself alive. Fighting against the scathing wind and the wicked sharp debris it had collected, as well as the excruciating pains that wracked her lithe frame, that which had begun as determination to see her people again and a refusal to accept anything less had become a full-fledged roaring bonfire of rage.

The bonfire that kept her moving was aimed at this “Elder One”, but as it burned within her, it aimed itself at everything she felt she could have stopped, and everything she had no control over. She didn’t think she’d ever been this enraged in her life.

Howls in the forest, surely wolves that planned to make a quick and easy meal of the wounded and exhausted elf. She turned into the howling wind, ignoring the pain and the sound of grating in her shoulder as she lifted her arms up in defiance.

“Is this what I’ve been reduced too?! To dying in the cold to a pack of void-called _wolves_ instead of to a Creators forsaken _magister made darkspawn!?_ Fen’harel, if this is your doing, the Creators won’t have to find you for what you did, because _I will!_ You won’t have the time to repent, because you’d be dead by my hand!” she was screaming so loudly her voice had gone hoarse, and she really didn’t care. Tears were beginning to fall from her eyes due to her rage, pain and feelings of hopelessness. “You will all be _fucked_ if you think this will break me!” The tears fell onto her cheekbones before freezing, and with her good hand, she wiped the ice from her skin, not caring if her gloves tore at her numb skin or not. “I will not _die_ , I will _not break_ , and there is _nothing_ you can do to stop it!!”

The wind didn’t answer her in words, only in howling that matched her own. She started marching again threw the trees, spurred on by pain, and fury.

‡

The camp was somber. They had found a deep valley that was out of the wind and had set up camp. Cullen paced back and forth at the entrance as he waited. It felt like something useful to be doing, even if he knew that it wasn’t.

Blackwall, Dorian and Varric stumbled into camp not long after they did. His eyes met theirs, and they refused to meet his gaze. The lack of answer told him what he needed to know, even if it wasn’t the answer he wanted. They didn’t know where she was, or if she lived. He sighed as he resigned himself to continuing to pace.

“Commander?” asked a voice. He didn’t acknowledge them. He heard a sigh before another word. “Cullen.” The voice said softly. The tone was such that he stopped and looked at the speaker. Cassandra stood with a bowl of soul and some bread.

“She’s out there Cassandra, she has to be.” He returned to pacing now that he knew who addressed him.

“What if she isn’t? What if all we have left of her is a body?” He glared at her. She gave him a sad glance. “We need to ask such questions Cullen, we need to see this for what it is, even if we don’t like it.” Her firm way of speaking as well as some piece of his mind saying that she was right broke his need to continue furiously pacing.

“I could have stayed with her.” He said, sinking down on a rock, and into his hands.

“She wouldn’t have allowed it.” She handed him the bowl of steaming soup before sitting beside him. The heat burnt his hands, even gloved as they were.

“I would have made her allow it.” He growled. She chuckled.

“I think you both could have leveled Haven faster than that dragon did if you two decided to have a battle of wills.” She looked at him sadly. “But she would have knocked you out first, and sent you with me.”

“Like she could try.” He growled. She handed him a spoon.

“Don’t worry about the past, Cullen. It does us no good, and with or without her, the Inquisition must continue. We have to plan our next move.”

“Well that’s easy.” He spoke around bites of stew. “We find her. The Inquisition doesn’t exist without her.” Cassandra pressed on, despite the insistent voice in her head that told her that on some level, he was more than correct.

“Cullen, it’s not that-“

“She isn’t back yet?” a voice came out of the darkness, making them jump. They both turned to see the speaker. The young man who had appeared at Haven before the advance force of red Templars had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and was now wringing his hands as he waited for their answer.

“No.” Cullen sighed.

“Anger, at everything, fury beyond anything I’ve ever felt. Why did they have to die? Why am I not dead yet? Why couldn’t I have died instead?” he muttered as he stared partially off into space.

“What are you talking about?” asked Cassandra.

“It’s her!” he cried. “She’s in the cold, but doesn’t want to give in. She _refuses_ to give in!”

“Give in? Give in to what?” Cullen asked. His brow was furrowed, and his tone bit more than he meant it too.

“Cold, death, pain, wind. But I can hear her. She’s the only one out there.”

“She? The Herald?” asked Cassandra, feeling the need to clarify what was probably obvious.

“You mean she’s alive?!” asked Cullen.

“Yes, but-“ the young man stopped, as if considering something. “She’s still far away.”

“But she is alive?” asked Cassandra.

“Too far to go find.” The boy shook his head before looking up the steep walls of the valley they had taken refuge in. “She will be closer soon. She won’t allow herself to stop until she gets here, then…” he trailed off. Cullen started wolfing his stew.

“Cullen?” asked Cassandra. His behaviour confused her. They were all concerned, but she didn’t understand how bolting food would help any of them.

“Go tell them to get a healers tent ready for her. She’s probably injured, if her companions are anything to go by, I don’t want her to get here only to have us incapable of helping her.” Cullen said between bites.

“Is she here yet?” asked another figure, this one holding a staff.

“Solas” Cassandra croaked. “Go tell them to get a healers tent ready.”

“Has she been found?” his eyes were almost so bright they glowed in the darkness.

“Not yet,” Cassandra responded, “but when she does appear, we should be prepared for anything.”

“If you’re going for her, I want to go with you.” Blackwall approached them looking tired, but determined. His left arm was in a sling from a Templar wound.

“You are injured, it would be better for you to-“Solas started.

“I left her to a Maker damned dragon!” he yelled. “If she dies out there…” he trailed off, and the sentence hung in the air.

“With all due respect Ser Blackwall, you didn’t leave her to a dragon. If I recall correctly, we scattered when the dragon descended, and once we saw there was nothing we could do, we got out of there. There wasn’t any ‘leaving her to it’, it was ‘leave’, or ‘die’, and I recall the later idea being a better choice.” Another voice drawled. Dorian leaned on the rock wall of the entrance to the valley as well as his staff.

“Truthfully Blackwall, you did not leave her to a dragon.” Cassandra said quietly. “If anyone did, it was we who did not stay to help her.”

“But she told you not too.” Dorian protested.

“Regardless, we left her to that fate, whatever fate it is. It is our fault if she dies.” They fell into a somber silence. Before Cullen fixed the boy with an intense gaze which he held easily.

“If you know of anything else of her, let us know. We will find her, and bring her back.” He nodded.

Cullen rose and walked over to whoever was gathering dishes to hand back his bowl. He _would_ find her, Maker willing.

‡

She was still stumbling into the wind, into the cold and the snow. It drove against her skin, and she wished, as she had been for the past few hours, that she’d been able to wear something warm enough that would have kept her warm in this horrible storm. Then again, no one expected that this would be something she’d face. She’d told Harriet that her armour was sturdy and warm, and for what she was doing, it was. For what she was facing now, the only thing she’d think that would be protection against the elements now would be a large coat of bear hide.

But if wishes were twists of fate, than the people who she’d watched die would still be alive, and she’d probably be a hunter for her Clan, somewhere in the Free Marches.

She was cold; she was tired, in pain, and still being hunted by wolves. She almost didn’t care anymore. But she swore to herself that if she did die in this mire of frozen wind and ice, that she’d inform them as a ghost if needed. She would not allow herself to do anything else.

Her joints were creaking in the cold, and the snow was up to her knees, if not above them. Every step was something that required her to pull her foot and all the snow with it out to put it in a new place. Extricating her limbs became the problem.

Her foot caught a rock and she slipped, falling into the snow. The wind still howled above her, but somehow she was safe from the horrible cold in the sharp ice pieces. She growled as she cradled her injured arm before abandoning that idea and using her uninjured arm to push herself up.

The movement caused a wave of nausea and dizziness to sweep threw her and sent her back into the snow.

_Creators_ …She thought. She tried again, forcing herself up to her knees before getting herself up past that. She tried summoning the saliva to hurl at the snow in defiance of the cold, but she couldn’t summon the liquid.

The fire of her fury at everything and herself was starting to find itself without fuel. She could be angry as much as she wished, but it was getting to the point where her body was unable to sustain the power of the fire within her. Her limbs were beginning to feel dead rather than like lead as they had earlier in the night. Having to fight snow, wind, wounds and exhaustion was beginning to need to be fuelled with something other than fiery venom. She felt like a puppet without strings, and equally as useless and limp.

Between the act of getting up and attempting to spit, she went from nauseous to cold and numb within the space of a few seconds. Her mind drifted to those who she’d made leave. The looks that Cullen had given her before she’d made him go. How sad his amber eyes had been, how she could see the fury, helplessness and resignation to choosing to die rather than give in. The look that he’d given her that told her he’d rather die than let her go out up against a dragon alone, but it had been tempered with the knowledge that if they were going to get the most amount of people out as they could, he had to be seen as a strong driven leader, and not watching her back as she fought Templars.

She shook her head angrily. The _last_ thing she needed was the memory of that look. She didn’t even want to think of the fondness that had been in Blackwall’s eyes either, or Varric’s, or Dorian’s.

“Gah.” She said. She just wanted to be warm; she didn’t want to think of pain or worry, or anything else. She wanted to get to her people, make sure they were safe, tell them what was happening, and then she could die happy. Because Gods knew, that was about as much as she figured she’d be able to do with her injuries and how bloody cold she was. She’d felt the blood from various injuries as warm to begin with, but no longer, which probably meant that the blood was all frozen on her body. That would mean that she’d probably be even more terrifying if she ever found camp. She’d be an ice crystal and a bloody one at that.

Her footing went out again, and she pitched forward into snow that rose above her head. She knew that this time she wouldn’t be able to push herself up again. She moaned slightly as she hit her injured arm on the way. Sighing, she tried to push herself up again, and only managed to wear herself out worse.

_I’m sorry guys._

‡

Cassandra had stopped watching him pace, claiming that it was making her dizzy; she’d left the entrance to the small valley to busy herself elsewhere. Blackwall and Dorian kept him company, silently. Normally they were consistently at each other’s throats, but now they were quiet. The small and somber vigil was added to when Iron Bull came to offer them some warm booze of some sort. Cullen didn’t drink much of the stuff, didn’t care what it was that he was pouring down his throat, and only drank enough to keep the cold from creeping into his bones. He was grateful when Varric approached with a pot of tea and cups. He should have been amused when Dorian conjured a fire to keep the pot warm at Varric’s request, as it was precluded with a certain degree of small grins from those assembled, but it was lost on him. The only thing keeping him from taking a lantern and going out into the cold was the steady beating of his heart, and the focusing on the idea of putting one foot in front of the other.

“Relax Curly, she’ll be alright.” Varric’s voice snapped him out of his trance and the commander’s head snapped around to look at the dwarf.

“Why do you figure that?” he asked roughly.

“Because if she is the Herald, she wouldn’t have survived all that she has only to lose everything now.”

“She’s also pretty tough.” Iron Bull chipped in. He tipped his tankard down his throat before coughing at the acrid nature of the drink. “She’s trained with the Chargers, and whipped a few of them around in ways I don’t think they quite expected.”

“I also have to admit that she’s rather stubborn. Far too stubborn to let a dragon and a blizzard win if she has any say in the matter.” Dorian examined the rim of his cup before sipping at the tea in his hand.

“I can’t… move” a light voice spoke out of the darkness. The vigil keepers turned to see the large brimmed hat and the speaker who hid beneath it. He was wringing his hands as he spoke. “I have to tell them what happened; I have to make sure they’re alive. I can’t, I can’t… cold. Far too cold, heavy, tired. I can’t sleep, but I’m so …tired…” He trailed off, and Cullen bit back a growl.

“That’s enough waiting. She’s out there, I’m going.” Cullen snarled as he started walking up the hill that lead into the valley they had claimed as a safe haven. Dorian nodded and tapped his staff on the ground, setting the top of it alight before he followed along. Blackwall made to rise before Varric patted his knee.

“Let them go Hero, you’re injured and I can’t keep up. We should probably keep the Seeker at bay before she goes after them and hauls them back by their earlobes.”

“Hauls who back by their earlobes?” a suspicious tone said behind them. Iron Bull chuckled as the trio turned to see Cassandra with her hips cocked to one side. The Qunari gestured to the footprints left by the pair who’d gone scouting and Cassandra scowled before starting off at a jog to catch up.

“Hey, where did that kid with the hat go?” he asked. Varric pointed. Up at the ridge of the hill with the commander and the mage, the boy was keeping pace beside them. “How come he didn’t leave any footprints then?” he asked. Varric shrugged, not caring enough about reasons why or anything like that.

“Well, Master Dwarf” Blackwall’s tone was on the side of irritated. “That seemed to work incredibly well.”

“Someone’s tense tonight” Iron Bull’s attempt to lighten the mood did nothing to quell the Warden’s irritation, and Blackwall turned an unimpressed look on the Qunari.

“You know exactly why I might come off as tense Bull.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Those glances you give her when she’s leading you threw the coast are pretty telling. I mean, I know her ass looks good, but the amount of time you’ve tripped over a stone, or almost walked into a branch are pretty telling too.” Blackwall’s mouth dropped open before he closed it as swiftly. Iron Bull chuckled softly as the tint on Blackwall’s exposed skin went from white to a more rosy pink. “I get it Blackwall, and I don’t care. We all care about her, we all feel helpless, but we were the lucky ones here. We were able to go help her, even if I needed to see to the chargers and others. Cullen wasn’t, and he feels more responsible than any of us for potentially sending her to an early grave. Let him go get her, otherwise he’ll never be able to lead the tropes like we need him too. He’s seen too much already of the bad things of life, let him go help someone and find himself with a reason to hope again.” Blackwall absorbed the Qunari’s words for a period before nodding quietly in response. Varric raised an eyebrow at Bull as he examined the bottom of his tankard.

“Tiny that was both observant and oddly rallying. I’m not sure which surprises me more.” Iron Bull gave him a small grin.

“Tethras, never assume I am simply another idiotic mercenary. There is a reason I’m with the Ben-Hassrath, and why the Chargers are still with me.”

“Done Sir.”

‡

Cullen had forgotten how to move through the snow when it was this deep, but he found that his legs quickly remembered. He found that he needed to occasionally throw Dorian a hand as well for despite his staff, the mage was not overly particularly steady in deep snow. The boy who accompanied them was almost weightless, moving over the wind hardened layer of snow at the very top while the humans beside him had to move threw it. Dorian’s mage light was helpful in the near darkness of the overhanging black rocks, but up on the planes, the moonlight covered the snow in soft white light which made the staff light a less needed objected. Cassandra caught up with them not so far into the plateau at the entrance to the valley as they searched for a sign of their Herald. Whatever footprints had been there once had disappeared under snow and wind. Everything had been turned white. Dorian turned to the boy who had some connection to the elvhen they were seeking.

“Well?” he asked, waiting for an answer. The boy paused looking around.

“She’s here… But I can’t sense her.”

“What do you mean you can’t sense her, you could do it earlier!” exploded the mage, finally at his wits end.

“Dorian,” Cullen called from some distance away. “Why don’t you come be useful for a moment?” The mage and the boy turned to see the commander digging in the snow as if there was something precious under it.

“Commander?” Cassandra asked, looking at him ike he’d lost his mind. “What are you-?” He pushed his hands deeply under the snow and pulled out the elf they had been looking for. The Seeker went white. “Merciful Maker” she hissed as Cullen gently brushed snow away from her face.

“Is she-?” Dorian couldn’t finish the sentence. Cullen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He stood as he held her, pulling her close against him, before remembering that the breast plate he wore was probably not going to be overly warm. The boy who’d mostly led them here was wringing his hands again.

“She lives, but she needs to be warm.”

“Let’s go then.” Said Cassandra, leading the way back to camp. They moved quickly, but Cullen was worried that even that might not be fast enough. Her skin was cold, her lips blue, and she was covered in frozen blood and sweat as she cradled her arm, even in his arms. His foot slipped against frozen snow and she jolted in his arms as he fought to keep himself upright. She moaned quietly as her eyelids fluttered against her skin.

“Cull…en?” her voice sounded broken, raspy, and still somehow sweet. It was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

“I’m here Eirian.” He spoke loud enough for her to hear, and just loud enough for himself and the boy who kept pace with them.

“Good. _Souver'inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas…_ ” she spoke in a soft sing song voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end before he took her rhythmic breathing as a sign that she’d fallen asleep.

They moved through camp quickly, but not as quickly as the rumours did.

She was _alive._ The Herald had _survived._ If only barely. But to those from Haven, it didn’t matter. There was still hope, even if it was small and perhaps vain hope. Cullen laid her down gently on a pallet in a tent that was covered in thick canvas to keep away the wind. The mages who’d stayed went to work, slowly warming her as she slept, healing her wounds. Solas himself made certain her arm was put back into it’s socket, which was probably easier with her passed out. Her companions, now satisfied that she was safe and soon to awake found themselves in bedrolls lined with furs to keep away the cold in the valley in the mountains, but they took shifts to keep watch by her, making sure that someone was there when she awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was far more difficult to write than I figured it would be.  
> Also, odd question. When I go over this on my phone after having posting it, on the chapters that are newly posted, I get the notes from the original 'ch 1'... i dont know if this is something that I alone get, or if my readers get as well.  
> Let me know please!  
> Also, thank you to all who've seen fit to add a kudos to this work! It definitely makes me feel like there might be hope for my writing after all ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1, finished. I think. With potential rewriting.  
> For the record, 'hes such a templar' was about as good as I could get instead of 'good lord, hes an innocent schoolboy." But I didnt think that would work.  
> I'm far more used to the Fanfiction interface, at least in the sense of inputting things into the writing area, and then having the formatting stick. This might take some getting used too.  
> Do let me know what you think. I'm not so certain I should be taking dialogue verbatim, but I dont want to deviate too much in some place, even though I plan to in other parts.  
> Also, if I'm going about with any gaping story holes that are obvious to others, I'd appreciate being informed. I'm still somewhat new to the DA Universe, and would love to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.  
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think.  
> Have a great day!


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